and worked out a plan

"Oh, beware! These are awful words! Any moment these walls may crumble upon us if you say such things. Oh call them back before it is too late!" Now this strange exhibition gave me a good idea and set me to thinking. If everybody about here was so honestly and sincerely afraid of Merlin's pretended magic as Clarence was, certainly a superior man like me ought to be shrewd enough to contrive some way to take advantage of such a state of things. I went on thinking, and worked out a plan. Then I said: "Get up. Pull yourself together; look me in the eye. Do you know why I laughed?" "No -- but for our blessed Lady's sake, do it no more." "Well, I'll tell you why I laughed. Because I'm a magician myself." "Thou!" The boy recoiled a step, and caught his breath, for the thing hit him rather sudden; but the aspect which he took on was very, very respectful. I took quick note of that; it indicated that a humbug didn't need to have a reputation in this asylum; people stood ready to take him at his word, without that. I resumed. "I've know Merlin seven hundred years, and he --" "Seven hun --" "Don't interrupt me. He has died and come alive again thirteen times, and traveled under a new name every time: Smith, Jones, Robinson, Jackson, Peters, Haskins, Merlin -- a new alias every time he turns up. I knew him in Egypt three hundred years ago; I knew him in India five hundred years ago -- he is always blethering around in my way, everywhere I go; he makes me tired.

the other way by fear

"Now do but hear thyself! Escape? Why, man, the corridors are in guard and keep of men-at-arms." "No doubt, no doubt. But how many, Clarence? Not many, I hope?" "Full a score. One may not hope to escape." After a pause -- hesitatingly: "and there be other reasons -- and weightier." "Other ones? What are they?" "Well, they say -- oh, but I daren't, indeed daren't!" "Why, poor lad, what is the matter? Why do you blench? Why do you tremble so?" "Oh, in sooth, there is need! I do want to tell you, but --" "Come, come, be brave, be a man -- speak out, there's a good lad!" He hesitated, pulled one way by desire, the other way by fear; then he stole to the door and peeped out, listening; and finally crept close to me and put his mouth to my ear and told me his fearful news in a whisper, and with all the cowering apprehension of one who was venturing upon awful ground and speaking of things whose very mention might be freighted with death. "Merlin, in his malice, has woven a spell about this dungeon, and there bides not the man in these kingdoms that would be desperate enough to essay to cross its lines with you! Now God pity me, I have told it! Ah, be kind to me, be merciful to a poor boy who means thee well; for an thou betray me I am lost!" I laughed the only really refreshing laugh I had had for some time; and shouted: "Merlin has wrought a spell! MERLIN, forsooth! That cheap old humbug, that maundering old ass? Bosh, pure bosh, the silliest bosh in the world! Why, it does seem to me that of all the childish, idiotic, chuckle-headed, chicken-livered superstitions that ev -- oh, damn Merlin!" But Clarence had slumped to his knees before I had half finished, and he was like to go out of his mind with fright.

a light flashed in my eyes

When I next came to myself, I seemed to have been asleep a very long time. My first thought was, "Well, what an astonishing dream I've had! I reckon I've waked only just in time to keep from being hanged or drowned or burned or something.... I'll nap again till the whistle blows, and then I'll go down to the arms factory and have it out with Hercules." But just then I heard the harsh music of rusty chains and bolts, a light flashed in my eyes, and that butterfly, Clarence, stood before me! I gasped with surprise; my breath almost got away from me. "What!" I said, "you here yet? Go along with the rest of the dream! scatter!" But he only laughed, in his light-hearted way, and fell to making fun of my sorry plight. "All right," I said resignedly, "let the dream go on; I'm in no hurry." "Prithee what dream?" "What dream? Why, the dream that I am in Arthur's court -- a person who never existed; and that I am talking to you, who are nothing but a work of the imagination." "Oh, la, indeed! and is it a dream that you're to be burned to-morrow? Ho-ho -- answer me that!" The shock that went through me was distressing. I now began to reason that my situation was in the last degree serious, dream or no dream; for I knew by past experience of the lifelike intensity of dreams, that to be burned to death, even in a dream, would be very far from being a jest, and was a thing to be avoided, by any means, fair or foul, that I could contrive. So I said beseechingly: "Ah, Clarence, good boy, only friend I've got, -for you ARE my friend, aren't you? -- don't fail me; help me to devise some way of escaping from this place!"

He asked them why they were so dull

However, I had read "Tom Jones," and "Roderick Random," and other books of that kind, and knew that the highest and first ladies and gentlemen in England had remained little or no cleaner in their talk, and in the morals and conduct which such talk implies, clear up to a hundred years ago; in fact clear into our own nineteenth century -- in which century, broadly speaking, the earliest samples of the real lady and real gentleman discoverable in English history -- or in European history, for that matter -- may be said to have made their appearance. Suppose Sir Walter, instead of putting the conversations into the mouths of his characters, had allowed the characters to speak for themselves? We should have had talk from Rebecca and Ivanhoe and the soft lady Rowena which would embarrass a tramp in our day. However, to the unconsciously indelicate all things are delicate. King Arthur's people were not aware that they were indecent and I had presence of mind enough not to mention it. They were so troubled about my enchanted clothes that they were mightily relieved, at last, when old Merlin swept the difficulty away for them with a common-sense hint. He asked them why they were so dull -- why didn't it occur to them to strip me. In half a minute I was as naked as a pair of tongs! And dear, dear, to think of it: I was the only embarrassed person there. Everybody discussed me; and did it as unconcernedly as if I had been a cabbage. Queen Guenever was as naively interested as the rest, and said she had never seen anybody with legs just like mine before. It was the only compliment I got -- if it was a compliment. Finally I was carried off in one direction, and my perilous clothes in another. I was shoved into a dark and narrow cell in a dungeon, with some scant remnants for dinner, some moldy straw for a bed, and no end of rats for company. Chapter 5 An Inspiration I WAS so tired that even my fears were not able to keep me awake long.

He spoke of me all the time

However he had nullified the force of the enchantment by prayer, and had killed my thirteen knights in a three hours' battle, and taken me prisoner, sparing my life in order that so strange a curiosity as I was might be exhibited to the wonder and admiration of the king and the court. He spoke of me all the time, in the blandest way, as "this prodigious giant," and "this horrible sky-towering monster," and "this tusked and taloned man-devouring ogre", and everybody took in all this bosh in the naivest way, and never smiled or seemed to notice that there was any discrepancy between these watered statistics and me. He said that in trying to escape from him I sprang into the top of a tree two hundred cubits high at a single bound, but he dislodged me with a stone the size of a cow, which "all-to brast" the most of my bones, and then swore me to appear at Arthur's court for sentence. He ended by condemning me to die at noon on the 21st; and was so little concerned about it that he stopped to yawn before he named the date. I was in a dismal state by this time; indeed, I was hardly enough in my right mind to keep the run of a dispute that sprung up as to how I had better be killed, the possibility of the killing being doubted by some, because of the enchantment in my clothes. And yet it was nothing but an ordinary suit of fifteen-dollar slopshops. Still, I was sane enough to notice this detail, to wit: many of the terms used in the most matter-offact way by this great assemblage of the first ladies and gentlemen in the land would have made a Comanche blush. Indelicacy is too mild a term to convey the idea.

Whatever the truth might be

He had a deadly fear that he had blundered into the observation of the law in a way which, whatever he might do now, would still be fatal to him. Or, as an almost equal fear, that he had interfered with plans which might otherwise have gone smoothly in a way which Professor Blinkwell would not forgive. Whatever the truth might be, it was imperative that he should know where his danger lay. To do this in the permitted manner, it was necessary to get the preliminary message, which the Professor received while at dinner, transmitted to his butler through three intermediaries, then to wait for the five minutes which were allowed for the return by the same circuitous method of the information that he had received it, and then to converse with him under assumed names, using a code adapted for such contingencies and from a different call-box from that which he had previously used. And, after this, he was in no mood for an instant interview with the young woman he had so rashly entrapped. He required time to think. He was undecided, frightened, and rendered abnormally dangerous by his fear. The form of his conversation with Professor Blinkwell would have rendered it difficult for him to learn all the facts of the case even had the Professor been willing to give them. But he had been able, in oblique words, to explain sufficiently to enable him, with his superior knowledge, to understand more completely; and that gentleman had made two things clear. First, that he regarded Snacklit's action as being foolish to the verge of imbecility, and as having hazarded the security of the gang to a degree that would be difficult to forgive. And, second that he must get out of the mess in his own way, and without assistance or further contacts with those whose security he had already jeopardized. He was to deal with those who were now in his power in his own way. That might mean anything. But, in fact, it meant one thing only. In his own way. Professor Blinkwell and he both knew what that way was. When he said it, the Professor had pronounced sentences of death both on the taxi-driver and the ambassador's daughter. As to the first, Snacklit saw that it might be best.

owing to any demand by her

She knew the event could not end in that casual manner. Not, at least, owing to any demand by her. Not unless he whom she had so inaccurately described a moment before should have decided that there was no more that could be usefully said and that it would be prudent to let her go without the opportunity for further words. The girl said tonelessly: "Yes, madam. I'll let the master know what you say." She withdrew, and Irene became conscious of healthy appetite as she gazed at the well-laden tray which had been placed beside her. Being detained in so outrageous a manner, she felt that she need feel no scruple in accepting anything which might be provided, though it were from an enemy's hand. The question of hospitality did not arise. But another did. Most inopportunely, she remembered that she was dealing with those who trafficked in poisonous or otherwise overpowering drugs. Suppose that the teapot, towards which her hand was stretched, should contain some subtle tasteless drug which might destroy memory, or break down the power of the will, or produce unconsciousness, during which she might be subject to any outrage, or removed to she knew not where. Suppose she should become a slobbering lunatic in the next hour? There are possibilities when the chemist works without scruple or fear of law which are literally worse than death. But she had a healthy and sanguine mind, it was already past the time at which she was used to taking a more substantial meal, and the call of hunger prevailed. She told herself, with some reason, that, even were it intended that the worst possible fate should be hers, there was a probability that she would be questioned first. They must be puzzled by the course of events, and would seek to obtain information from her. The stones in the suitcase would be hard for any theory to fit. The really puzzling thing was that Snacklit did not return. She would eat that which had been provided, and then, if she were still alone, she would endeavour to leave the house. . . . She could detect no strange taste in the tea. The muffins were good. And so was the strawberry jam. Chapter 29 Mr.Snacklit Thinks THERE WERE GOOD reasons why Snacklit left Irene alone for an hour, or more nearly two.

With less certain logic

"The man was a slow driver; and you've got a much better car." He gave no sign that he saw the weakness of that reply. He changed the subject, "You say your father's the American Ambassador?" "Yes, he is." "Then you ought not to be wandering about alone here. I think I ought to 'phone the police, for your own protection." "Thank you, but I am quite capable of looking after myself. I shall be all right when I leave here." "Perhaps you're not the best judge of that." He went out as he spoke. He did not close the door, and she wondered whether it would be worth while, to attempt to escape to the security of the open street. But she judged correctly that it would not be easy to do. And if he were really 'phoning the police - - But she did not believe that. Well, while she must remain here, there was no reason she should not take the comfort that the room provided. She sank into the depths of a padded chair. . . . She sat there a long time, her mind reviewing and memorizing what had occurred, and reaching the sound conclusion that her presence in that house provided a difficult problem for its owner to solve. With less certain logic, she offered herself the comfortable deduction that she had nothing about which to worry. That was for the proprietor of the Snacklit Home. And so, relaxation from past excitement, comfort and warmth had their natural effect, and when, a full hour afterwards, the door opened quietly, she was so nearly asleep that she was unaware of what was happening until it was almost too late to speak. She looked up to see a tea-tray on a low table beside her, and a maid-servant retiring through the door. She called sharply and rather incoherently, on which the girl came a step back into the room. "How long have I - what time is it?" she began, as she rose from the chair. "Will you tell Mr. - the gentleman - that I cannot stay longer? I should like a taxi called. That is if mine - - " She saw the uselessness of saying more to a girl whose vacuous expression did not change.

almost continuous sound of canine voices

He opened the inner door, and led the way up a steep flight of wooden stairs. There was another door at the top, and this opened on to a well-carpeted passage. The atmosphere had suddenly changed to that of an affluent dwelling-house. They passed a half-opened door of a bedroom which looked luxurious even to Irene, who had seen something of sumptuous living, and then turned into a large and very comfortable lounge. Through a wide single-paned window, she looked down upon a well-kept garden of surprising size for that district. The actual nature of the place was only indicated by a low, almost continuous sound of canine voices, which thick walls and carpets could not entirely deaden, and by a faint canine smell, of which those who lived there regularly had probably ceased to be aware. On the right hand of the garden there was a high wall, from the farther side of which a stovepipe rose, sending up a column of thick black smoke, which ascended straight in a still air. What might be the meaning of that? Snacklit's voice became smooth, and almost polite, as he said: "Now, Miss Thurlow, you'd better sit down, and tell me what the trouble is." She remained standing as she answered: "There's no trouble that I know of. I followed you because there'd been a mistake about the case you had from Mrs. Collinson. The right one was delivered there just after you left." He stared at this, which had implications he could not accept or reject. Was it possible that she was one of themselves? Or an innocent blunderer, who might do no harm if he should say or do nothing foolish to her? It would have seemed more probable but for the piece of stone in the case he had been given. That must have been put in to delude him with the expected weight. But was even that certain? Might it not have been put up to mislead someone else? - someone of the Customs, or the police? And by some fluke, it had been given to him? And this was nothing more than an attempt to put matters right? If so, he had come near to being an utter fool. Might, indeed, be said to have come more than near by the way he had treated the taxi-driver, which would be hard to explain. Yet a ten-pound note will do much. The man did not appear to be of an aggressive temper. . . . But he must not think. He must know. What he said was, "You didn't seem in any hurry to catch me up."

nor inviting them to do so

"You'd better come in here," he said curtly, leading the way into a small office that opened out of the yard. It contained a high desk and stool, suitable for the yard porter who usually occupied it. There was a dirty grate, with a teapot among the ashes of the fender. Beside the grate, there was an almost equally dirty chair. Beyond it, an inner door. The driver followed at once. Irene hesitated, being annoyed by the curt words, which were order rather than request. But she saw the folly of making difficulties over such points as that. She was here to hear and observe all she could. Neither seating himself, nor inviting them to do so, Snack lit turned to the driver. "Now, my man, what was the fare?" "There was four-and-three on the clock." "Very well. Here's five. Now tell me who hired you, and what you know of this lady." "I don't know nothing more than that she stopped me near Clissold Street, and told me to drive after you." "Anyone with her?" "Not wot I saw." "Very well. You'd better stay here. Miss Whatever-yourname-is, you can come with me." The man was the first to answer: "Beg pardon, sir. But I can't stay here. It's a loss of money to me." "You needn't worry about that." Snacklit turned his attention to Irene, staring with incredulous surprise at the answer she had now given. "I am Miss Thurlow. My father is the American Ambassador." "Then," he asked, "what are you doing here?" "I was forced to come here by you." "Why were you following me before that?" "I have told you once already." "It didn't make sense to me." "It was quite simple. I said - - " He interrupted: "We can t talk here. You d better come into the house."

all the fevers and contagions of human life

The last salient point in which the systems of these creatures differed from ours was in what one might have thought a very trivial particular. Micro-organisms, which cause so much disease and pain on earth, have either never appeared upon Mars or Martian sanitary science eliminated them ages ago. A hundred diseases, all the fevers and contagions of human life, consumption, cancers, tumours and such morbidities, never enter the scheme of their life. And speaking of the differences between the life on Mars and terrestrial life, I may allude here to the curious suggestions of the red weed. Apparently the vegetable kingdom in Mars, instead of having green for a dominant colour, is of a vivid blood-red tint. At any rate, the seeds which the Martians (intentionally or accidentally) brought with them gave rise in all cases to red-coloured growths. Only that known popularly as the red weed, however, gained any footing in competition with terrestrial forms. The red creeper was quite a transitory growth, and few people have seen it growing. For a time, however, the red weed grew with astonishing vigour and luxuriance. It spread up the sides of the pit by the third or fourth day of our imprisonment, and its cactus-like branches formed a carmine fringe to the edges of our triangular window. And afterwards I found it broadcast throughout the country, and especially wherever there was a stream of water. The Martians had what appears to have been an auditory organ, a single round drum at the back of the head-body, and eyes with a visual range not very different from ours except that, according to Philips, blue and violet were as black to them. It is commonly supposed that they communicated by sounds and tentacular gesticulations; this is asserted, for instance, in the able but hastily compiled pamphlet (written evidently by someone not an eye-witness of Martian actions) to which I have already alluded, and which, so far, has been the chief source of information concerning them.

that such organs as hair

In man, in all the higher terrestrial animals, such a method of increase has disappeared; but even on this earth it was certainly the primitive method. Among the lower animals, up even to those first cousins of the vertebrated animals, the Tunicates, the two processes occur side by side, but finally the sexual method superseded its competitor altogether. On Mars, however, just the reverse has apparently been the case. It is worthy of remark that a certain speculative writer of quasi-scientific repute, writing long before the Martian invasion, did forecast for man a final structure not unlike the actual Martian condition. His prophecy, I remember, appeared in November or December, 1893, in a long-defunct publication, the PALL MALL BUDGET, and I recall a caricature of it in a pre-Martian periodical called PUNCH. He pointed out-writing in a foolish, facetious tone--that the perfection of mechanical appliances must ultimately supersede limbs; the perfection of chemical devices, digestion; that such organs as hair, external nose, teeth, ears, and chin were no longer essential parts of the human being, and that the tendency of natural selection would lie in the direction of their steady diminution through the coming ages. The brain alone remained a cardinal necessity. Only one other part of the body had a strong case for survival, and that was the hand, "teacher and agent of the brain." While the rest of the body dwindled, the hands would grow larger. There is many a true word written in jest, and here in the Martians we have beyond dispute the actual accomplishment of such a suppression of the animal side of the organism by the intelligence. To me it is quite credible that the Martians may be descended from beings not unlike ourselves, by a gradual development of brain and hands (the latter giving rise to the two bunches of delicate tentacles at last) at the expense of the rest of the body. Without the body the brain would, of course, become a mere selfish intelligence, without any of the emotional substratum of the human being.

I may add in this place certain further details which

Their undeniable preference for men as their source of nourishment is partly explained by the nature of the remains of the victims they had brought with them as provisions from Mars. These creatures, to judge from the shrivelled remains that have fallen into human hands, were bipeds with flimsy, silicious skeletons (almost like those of the silicious sponges) and feeble musculature, standing about six feet high and having round, erect heads, and large eyes in flinty sockets. Two or three of these seem to have been brought in each cylinder, and all were killed before earth was reached. It was just as well for them, for the mere attempt to stand upright upon our planet would have broken every bone in their bodies. And while I am engaged in this description, I may add in this place certain further details which, although they were not all evident to us at the time, will enable the reader who is unacquainted with them to form a clearer picture of these offensive creatures. In three other points their physiology differed strangely from ours. Their organisms did not sleep, any more than the heart of man sleeps. Since they had no extensive muscular mechanism to recuperate, that periodical extinction was unknown to them. They had little or no sense of fatigue, it would seem. On earth they could never have moved without effort, yet even to the last they kept in action. In twenty-four hours they did twenty-four hours of work, as even on earth is perhaps the case with the ants. In the next place, wonderful as it seems in a sexual world, the Martians were absolutely without sex, and therefore without any of the tumultuous emotions that arise from that difference among men. A young Martian, there can now be no dispute, was really born upon earth during the war, and it was found attached to its parent, partially BUDDED off, just as young lilybulbs bud off, or like the young animals in the fresh-water polyp.

living blood of other creatures

The pulmonary distress caused by the denser atmosphere and greater gravitational attraction was only too evident in the convulsive movements of the outer skin. And this was the sum of the Martian organs. Strange as it may seem to a human being, all the complex apparatus of digestion, which makes up the bulk of our bodies, did not exist in the Martians. They were heads--merely heads. Entrails they had none. They did not eat, much less digest. Instead, they took the fresh, living blood of other creatures, and INJECTED it into their own veins. I have myself seen this being done, as I shall mention in its place. But, squeamish as I may seem, I cannot bring myself to describe what I could not endure even to continue watching. Let it suffice to say, blood obtained from a still living animal, in most cases from a human being, was run directly by means of a little pipette into the recipient canal. . . . The bare idea of this is no doubt horribly repulsive to us, but at the same time I think that we should remember how repulsive our carnivorous habits would seem to an intelligent rabbit. The physiological advantages of the practice of injection are undeniable, if one thinks of the tremendous waste of human time and energy occasioned by eating and the digestive process. Our bodies are half made up of glands and tubes and organs, occupied in turning heterogeneous food into blood. The digestive processes and their reaction upon the nervous system sap our strength and colour our minds. Men go happy or miserable as they have healthy or unhealthy livers, or sound gastric glands. But the Martians were lifted above all these organic fluctuations of mood and emotion.

and under no urgency of action

At first, I say, the handling-machine did not impress me as a machine, but as a crablike creature with a glittering integument, the controlling Martian whose delicate tentacles actuated its movements seeming to be simply the equivalent of the crab's cerebral portion. But then I perceived the resemblance of its grey-brown, shiny, leathery integument to that of the other sprawling bodies beyond, and the true nature of this dexterous workman dawned upon me. With that realisation my interest shifted to those other creatures, the real Martians. Already I had had a transient impression of these, and the first nausea no longer obscured my observation. Moreover, I was concealed and motionless, and under no urgency of action. They were, I now saw, the most unearthly creatures it is possible to conceive. They were huge round bodies--or, rather, heads--about four feet in diameter, each body having in front of it a face. This face had no nostrils--indeed, the Martians do not seem to have had any sense of smell, but it had a pair of very large dark-coloured eyes, and just beneath this a kind of fleshy beak. In the back of this head or body--I scarcely know how to speak of it--was the single tight tympanic surface, since known to be anatomically an ear, though it must have been almost useless in our dense air. In a group round the mouth were sixteen slender, almost whiplike tentacles, arranged in two bunches of eight each. These bunches have since been named rather aptly, by that distinguished anatomist, Professor Howes, the HANDS. Even as I saw these Martians for the first time they seemed to be endeavouring to raise themselves on these hands, but of course, with the increased weight of terrestrial conditions, this was impossible. There is reason to suppose that on Mars they may have progressed upon them with some facility. The internal anatomy, I may remark here, as dissection has since shown, was almost equally simple. The greater part of the structure was the brain, sending enormous nerves to the eyes, ear, and tactile tentacles. Besides this were the bulky lungs, into which the mouth opened, and the heart and its vessels.

leaving my place is next to leaving the world

Tom smoked meditatively for a few moments, and then remarked, "I guess that's your best way out." "It aint an easy way, either," said Holcroft. "Finding a purchaser or tenant for a farm like mine is almost as hard as finding a wife.  Then, as I feel, leaving my place is next to leaving the world." Tom shook his head ruefully and admitted,, "I declare, Jim, when a feller comes to think it all over, you ARE in a bad fix, especially as you feel.  I thought I could talk you over into practical common sense in no time.  It's easy enough when one don't know all the bearin's of a case, to think carelessly, 'Oh, he aint as bad off as he thinks he is.  He can do this and that and the t'other thing.'  But when you come to look it all over, you find he can't, except at a big loss.  Of course, you can give away your farm on which you were doing well and getting ahead, though how you did it, I can't see.  You'd have to about give it away if you forced a sale, and where on earth you'll find a tenant who'll pay anything worth considering--But there's no use of croaking.  I wish I could help you, old feller.  By jocks! I believe I can.  There's an old woman here who's right smart and handy when she can't get her bottle filled.  I believe she'd be glad to go with you, for she don't like our board and lodging over much." "Do you think she'd go tonight?" "Oh, yes!  Guess so.  A little cold water'll be a good change for her." Mrs. Wiggins was seen, and feeling that any change would be for the better, readily agreed to go for very moderate wages.  Holcroft looked dubiously at the woman's heavy form and heavier face, but felt that it was the best he could do.  Squeezing Mrs. Watterly's cold, limp hand in a way that would have thawed a lump of ice, he said "goodby;" and then declaring that he would rather do his own harnessing for a night ride, he went out into the storm.  Tom put on his rubber coat and went to the barn with his friend, toward whom he cherished honest good will.

In the first place

It aint for me to judge 'em, and I don't understand how they do it.  You are a very practical man, Tom, but just you put yourself in my shoes and see what you'd do.  In the first place, I don't know of a woman in the world that I'd think of marrying.  That's saying nothing against the women,--there's lots too good for me,--but I don't know 'em and I can't go around and hunt 'em up.  Even if I could, with my shy, awkward ways, I wouldn't feel half so nervous starting out on a bear hunt.  Here's difficulty right at the beginning.  Supposing I found a nice, sensible woman, such as I'd be willing to marry, there isn't one chance in a hundred she'd look at an old fellow like me.  Another difficulty: Supposing she would; suppose she looked me square in the eyes and said, 'So you truly want a wife?' what in thunder would I say then?--I don't want a wife, I want a housekeeper, a butter maker, one that would look after my interests as if they were her own; and if I could hire a woman that would do what I wish, I'd never think of marrying.  I can't tell a woman that I love her when I don't.  If I went to a minister with a woman I'd be deceiving him, and deceiving her, and perjuring myself promiscuously.  I married once according to law and gospel and I was married through and through, and I can't do the thing over again in any way that would seem to me like marrying at all.  The idea of me sitting by the fire and wishing that the woman who sat on the t'other side of the stove was my first wife!  Yet I couldn't help doing this any more than breathing.  Even if there was any chance of my succeeding I can't see anything square or honest in my going out and hunting up a wife as a mere matter of business.  I know other people do it and I've thought a good deal about it myself, but when it comes to the point of acting I find I can't do it." The two men now withdrew from the table to the fireside and lighted their pipes.  Mrs. Watterly stepped out for a moment and Tom, looking over his shoulder to make sure she was out of ear shot, said under his breath, "But suppose you found a woman that you could love and obey, and all that?" "Oh, of course, that would make everything different.  I wouldn't begin with a lie then, and I know enough of my wife to feel sure that she wouldn't be a sort of dog in the manger after she was dead.  She was one of those good souls that if she could speak her mind this minute she would say, 'James, what's best and right for you is best and right.'  But it's just because she was such a good wife that I know there's no use of trying to put anyone in her place.  Where on earth could I find anybody, and how could we get acquainted so that we'd know anything about each other?  No, I must just scratch along for a short time as things are and be on the lookout to sell or rent."

It's very easy for you to say

"Well," replied Tom, with a deprecatory look at his wife, "Angy don't take to pettin' very much.  She thinks it's a kind of foolishness for such middle-aged people as we're getting to be." "A husband can show his consideration without blarneying," remarked Mrs. Watterly coldly. "When a man takes on in that way, you may be sure he wants something extra to pay for it." After a little thought Holcroft said, "I guess it's a good way to pay for it between husband and wife." "Look here, Jim, since you're so well up on the matrimonial question, why in thunder don't you marry again?  That would settle all your difficulties," and Tom looked at his friend with a sort of wonder that he should hesitate to take this practical, sensible course. "It's very easy for you to say, 'Why don't you marry again?'  If you were in my place you'd see that there are things in the way of marrying for the sake of having a good butter maker and all that kind of thing." "Mr. Watterly wouldn't be long in comforting himself," remarked his wife.--"His advice to you makes the course he'd take mighty clear." "Now, Angy!" said Tom reproachfully. "Well," he added with a grin, "you're forewarned.  So you've only to take care of yourself and not give me a chance." "The trouble is," Holcroft resumed, "I don't see how an honest man is going to comfort himself unless it all comes about in some natural sort of way.  I suppose there are people who can marry over and over again, just as easy as they'd roll off a log. 

that keeps everything indoors up to the mark

Holcroft shared in his opinion and sighed deeply as he sat down to supper. "Ah, Tom!" he said, "you're a lucky man.  You've got a wife that keeps everything indoors up to the mark, and gives you a chance to attend to your own proper business.  That's the way it was with mine.  I never knew what a lopsided, helpless creature a man was until I was left alone.  You and I were lucky in getting the women we did, but when my partner left me, she took all the luck with her.  That aint the worst.  She took what's more than luck and money and everything.  I seemed to lose with her my grit and interest in most things.  It'll seem foolishness to you, but I can't take comfort in anything much except working that old farm that I've worked and played on ever since I can remember anything.  You're not one of those fools, Tom, that have to learn from their own experience.  Take a bit from mine, and be good to your wife while you can.  I'd give all I'm worth--I  know that aint much--if I could say some things to my wife and do some things for her that I didn't do." Holcroft spoke in the simplicity of a full and remorseful heart, but he unconsciously propitiated Mrs. Watterly in no small degree.  Indeed, she felt that he had quite repaid her for his entertainment, and the usually taciturn woman seconded his remarks with much emphasis. "Well now, Angy," said Tom, "if you averaged up husbands in these parts I guess you'd find you were faring rather better than most women folks.  I let you take the bit in your teeth and go your own jog mostly.  Now, own up, don't I?" "That wasn't my meaning, exactly, Tom," resumed Holcroft. "You and I could well afford to let our wives take their own jog, for they always jogged steady and faithful and didn't need any urging and guiding.  But even a dumb critter likes a good word now and then and a little patting on the back.  It doesn't cost us anything and does them a sight of good.  But we kind of let the chances slip by and forget about it until like enough it's too late."

whose character is not worth sketching

Now, you've got to stay and take a bite with me, and then we'll light our pipes and untangle this snarl.  No backing out!  I can do you more good than all the preachin' you ever heard.  Hey, there, Bill!" shouting to one of the paupers who was detailed for such work, "take this team to the barn and feed 'em.  Come in, come in, old feller!  You'll find that Tom Watterly allus has a snack and a good word for an old crony." Holcroft was easily persuaded, for he felt the need of cheer, and he looked up to Tom as a very sagacious, practical man.  So he said, "Perhaps you can see farther into a millstone than I can, and if you can show me a way out of my difficulties you'll be a friend sure enough." "Why, of course I can.  Your difficulties are all here and here," touching his bullet head and the region of his heart. "There aint no great difficulties in fact, but, after you've brooded out there a week or two alone, you think you're caught as fast as if you were in a bear trap.  Here, Angy," addressing his wife, "I've coaxed Holcroft to take supper with us.  You can hurry it up a little, can't you?" Mrs. Watterly gave their guest a cold, limp hand and a rather frigid welcome.  But this did not disconcert him. "It's only her way," he had always thought. "She looks after her husband's interests as mine did for me, and she don't talk him to death." This thought, in the main, summed up Mrs. Watterly's best traits. She was a commonplace, narrow, selfish woman, whose character is not worth sketching.  Tom stood a little in fear of her, and was usually careful not to impose extra tasks, but since she helped him to save and get ahead, he regarded her as a model wife.

by means of appointed agents

The year of which I am now writing was the year of the famous Crystal Palace Exhibition in Hyde Park. Foreigners in unusually large numbers had arrived already, and were still arriving in England. Men were among us by hundreds whom the ceaseless distrustfulness of their governments had followed privately, by means of appointed agents, to our shores. My surmises did not for a moment class a man of the Count's abilities and social position with the ordinary rank and file o~ foreign spies. I suspected him of holding a position of authority, of being entrusted by the government which he secretly served with the organisation and management of agents specially employed in this country, both men and women, and I believed Mrs. Rubelle, who had been so opportunely found to act as nurse at Blackwater Park, to be, in all probability, one of the number. Assuming that this idea of mine had a foundation in truth, the position of the Count might prove to be more assailable than I had hitherto ventured to hope. To whom could I apply to know something more of the man's history and of the man himself than I knew now? In this emergency it naturally occurred to my mind that a countryman of his own, on whom I could rely, might be the fittest person to help me. The first man whom I thought of under these circumstances was also the only Italian with whom I was intimately acquainted--my quaint little friend, Professor Pesca. The professor has been so long absent from these pages that he has run some risk of being forgotten altogether. It is the necessary law of such a story as mine that the persons concerned in it only appear when the course of events takes them up--they come and go, not by favour of my personal partiality, but by right of their direct connection with the circumstances to be detailed. For this reason, not Pesca alone, but my mother and sister as well, have been left far in the background of the narrative.

to all practical purpose

The first necessity was to know something of the man. Thus far, the true story of his life was an impenetrable mystery to me. I began with such scanty sources of information as were at my own disposal. The important narrative written by Mr. Frederick Fairlie (which Marian had obtained by following the directions I had given to her in the winter) proved to be of no service to the special object with which I now looked at it. While reading it I reconsidered the disclosure revealed to me by Mrs. Clements of the series of deceptions which had brought Anne Catherick to London, and which had there devoted her to the interests of the conspiracy. Here, again, the Count had not openly committed himself--here, again, he was, to all practical purpose, out of my reach. I next returned to Marian's journal at Blackwater Park. At my request she read to me again a passage which referred to her past curiosity about the Count, and to the few particulars which she had discovered relating to him. The passage to which I allude occurs in that part of her journal which delineates his character and his personal appearance. She describes him as "not having crossed the frontiers of his native country for years past"--as "anxious to know if any Italian gentlemen were settled in the nearest town to Blackwater Park"--as "receiving letters with all sorts of odd stamps on them, and one with a large official-looking seal on it." She is inclined to consider that his long absence from his native country may be accounted for by assuming that he is a political exile. But she is, on the other hand, unable to reconcile this idea with the reception of the letter from abroad bearing "the large official looking seal"--letters from the Continent addressed to political exiles being usually the last to court attention from foreign post-offices in that way. The considerations thus presented to me in the diary, joined to certain surmises of my own that grew out of them, suggested a conclusion which I wondered I had not arrived at before. I now said to myself--what Laura had once said to Marian at Blackwater Park, what Madame Fosco had overheard by listening at the door-the Count is a spy! Laura had applied the word to him at hazard, in natural anger at his proceedings towards herself. I applied it to him with the deliberate conviction that his vocation in life was the vocation of a spy. On this assumption, the reason for his extraordinary stay in England so long after the objects of the conspiracy had been gained, became, to my mind, quite intelligible.

for anticipating that he would

The course of this narrative, steadily flowing on, bears me away from the morning-time of our married life, and carries me forward to the end. In a fortnight more we three were back in London, and the shadow was stealing over us of the struggle to come. Marian and I were careful to keep Laura in ignorance of the cause that had hurried us back--the necessity of making sure of the Count. It was now the beginning of May, and his term of occupation at the house in Forest Road expired in June. If he renewed it (and I had reasons, shortly to be mentioned, for anticipating that he would), I might be certain of his not escaping me. But if by any chance he disappointed my expectations and left the country, then I had no time to lose in arming myself to meet him as I best might. In the first fulness of my new happiness, there had been moments when my resolution faltered--moments when I was tempted to be safely content, now that the dearest aspiration of my life was fulfilled in the possession of Laura's love. For the first time I thought faint-heartedly of the greatness of the risk, of the adverse chances arrayed against me, of the fair promise of our new life, and of the peril in which I might place the happiness which we had so hardly earned. Yes! let me own it honestly. For a brief time I wandered, in the sweet guiding of love, far from the purpose to which I had been true under sterner discipline and in darker days. Innocently Laura had tempted me aside from the hard path--innocently she was destined to lead me back again. At times, dreams of the terrible past still disconnectedly recalled to her, in the mystery of sleep, the events of which her waking memory had lost all trace. One night (barely two weeks after our marriage), when I was watching her at rest, I saw the tears come slowly through her closed eyelids, I heard the faint murmuring words escape her which told me that her spirit was back again on the fatal journey from Blackwater Park. That unconscious appeal, so touching and so awful in the sacredness of her sleep, ran through me like fire. The next day was the day we came back to London--the day when my resolution returned to me with tenfold strength.

a great change dawned on my mind

On the very chair which I used to occupy when I was at work Marian was sitting now, with the child industriously sucking his coral upon her lap--while Laura was standing by the well-remembered drawing-table which I had so often used, with the little album that I had filled for her in past times open under her hand. "What in the name of heaven has brought you here?" I asked. "Does Mr. Fairlie know----?" Marian suspended the question on my lips by telling me that Mr. Fairlie was dead. He had been struck by paralysis, and had never rallied after the shock. Mr. Kyrle had informed them of his death, and had advised them to proceed immediately to Limmeridge House. Some dim perception of a great change dawned on my mind. Laura spoke before I had quite realised it. She stole close to me to enjoy the surprise which was still expressed in my face. "My darling Walter," she said, "must we really account for our boldness in coming here? I am afraid, love, I can only explain it by breaking through our rule, and referring to the past." "There is not the least necessity for doing anything of the kind," said Marian. "We can be just as explicit, and much more interesting, by referring to the future." She rose and held up the child kicking and crowing in her arms. "Do you know who this is, Walter?" she asked, with bright tears of happiness gathering in her eyes. "Even MY bewilderment has its limits," I replied. "I think I can still answer for knowing my own child." "Child!" she exclaimed, with all her easy gaiety of old times. "Do you talk in that familiar manner of one of the landed gentry of England? Are you aware, when I present this illustrious baby to your notice, in whose presence you stand? Evidently not! Let me make two eminent personages known to one another: Mr. Walter Hartright--THE HEIR OF LIMMERIDGE." So she spoke. In writing those last words, I have written all. The pen falters in my hand. The long, happy labour of many months is over. Marian was the good angel of our lives--let Marian end our Story.

present to assist my wife on

In the February of the new year our first child was born--a son. My mother and sister and Mrs. Vesey were our guests at the little christening party, and Mrs. Clements was present to assist my wife on the same occasion. Marian was our boy's godmother, and Pesca and Mr. Gilmore (the latter acting by proxy) were his godfathers. I may add here that when Mr. Gilmore returned to us a year later he assisted the design of these pages, at my request, by writing the Narrative which appears early in the story under his name, and which, though first in order of precedence, was thus, in order of time, the last that I received. The only event in our lives which now remains to be recorded, occurred when our little Walter was six months old. At that time I was sent to Ireland to make sketches for certain dorthcoming illustrations in the newspaper to which I was attached. I was away for nearly a fortnight, corresponding regularly with my wife and Marian, except during the last three days of my absence, when my movements were too uncertain to enable me to receive letters. I performed the latter part of my journey back at night, and when I reached home in the morning, to my utter astonishment there was no one to receive me. Laura and Marian and the child had left the house on the day before my return. A note from my wife, which was given to me by the servant, only increased my surprise, by informing me that they had gone to Limmeridge House. Marian had prohibited any attempt at written explanations--I was entreated to follow them the moment I came back--complete enlightenment awaited me on my arrival in Cumberland--and I was forbidden to feel the slightest anxiety in the meantime. There the note ended. It was still early enough to catch the morning train. I reached Limmeridge House the same afternoon. My wife and Marian were both upstaars. They had established themselves (by way of completing my amazement) in the little room which had been once assigned to me for a studio, when I was employed on Mr. Fairlie's drawings.

revealing a dark passage

    Here the two men stopped as if they had reached their journey's end.     One of them advanced to the side of the hill and unlocked a thick wooden door which at first had failed to attract Rodney's attention. The door swung open, revealing a dark passage, cut partly through stone and partly through earth. Inside on the floor was a bell of good size.     One of the men lifted the bell and rang it loudly.     "What does that mean?" thought Rodney, who felt more curious than apprehensive.     He soon learned.     A curious looking negro, stunted in growth, for he was no taller than a boy of ten, came out from the interior and stood at the entrance of the cave, if such it was. His face was large and hideous, there was a hump on his back, and his legs were not a match, one being shorter than the other, so that as he walked, his motion was a curious one. He bent a scrutinizing glance on Rodney.     "Well, Caesar, is dinner ready?" asked one of the men.     "No, massa, not yet."     "Let it be ready then as soon as possible. But first lead the way. We are coming in."     He started ahead, leading the horse, for the entrance was high enough to admit the passage of the animal.     "Push on!" said the other, signing to Rodney to precede him.     Rodney did so, knowing remonstrance to be useless. His curiosity was excited. He wondered how long the passage was and whither it led.     The way was dark, but here and there in niches was a kerosene lamp that faintly relieved the otherwise intense blackness.

I hope you will let me go

    "Where are you going to take me?" asked Rodney.     "You will know in due time."     "I hope you will let me go," urged Rodney, beginning to be uneasy. "I am expected home this evening, or at all event I want to get there."     "No doubt you do, but the Miners' Rest will have to get along without you for a while."     "Do you know me then?"     "Yes; you are the boy clerk at the Miners' Rest."     "You both put up there about two weeks since," said Rodney, examining closely the faces of the two men.     "Right you are, kid!"     "What can you possibly want of me?"     "Don't be too curious. You will know in good time."     Rodney remembered that the two men had remained at the hotel for a day and night. They spent the day in wandering around Oreville.     He had supposed when they came that they were in search of employment, but they had not applied for work and only seemed actuated by curiosity. What could be their object in stopping him now he could not understand.     It would have been natural to suppose they wanted money, but they had not asked for any as yet. He had about fifty dollars in his pocketbook and he would gladly have given them this if it would have insured his release. But not a word had been said about money.     They kept on their journey. Montana is a mountainous State, and they were now in the hilly regions. They kept on for perhaps half an hour, gradually getting upon higher ground, until they reached a precipitous hill composed largely of rock.

and so consumed two days and a half in

    At nine the appointed morning Mr. Pettigrew's own horse stood saddled at the door, and Rodney in traveling costume with a small satchel in his hand, mounted and rode away, waving a smiling farewell to his friend and employer.     Rodney did not hurry, and so consumed two days and a half in reaching Babcock. Here he was cordially received by the superintendent whom Jefferson Pettigrew had placed in charge of the mine. Every facility was afforded him to examine into the management of things and he found all satisfactory.     This part of his journey, therefore, may be passed over. But his return trip was destined to be more exciting.     Riding at an easy jog Rodney had got within fifteen miles of Oreville, when there was an unexpected interruption. Two men started out from the roadside, or rather from one side of the bridle path for there was no road, and advanced to meet him with drawn revolvers.     "Halt there!" one of them exclaimed in a commanding tone.     Rodney drew bridle, and gazed at the two men in surprise.     "What do you want of me?" he asked.     "Dismount instantly!"     "Why should I? What right have you to interfere with my journey?"     "Might gives right," said one of the men sententiously. "It will be best for you to do as we bid you without too much back talk."     "What are you -- highwaymen?" asked Rodney.     "You'd better not talk too much. Get off that horse!"     Rodney saw that remonstrance was useless, and obeyed the order.     One of the men seized the horse by the bridle, and led him.     "Walk in front!" he said.

I will send you up to examine it

    Rodney had reason to be satisfied with his position as landlord of the Miners' Rest. His pay was large, and enabled him to put away a good sum every month, but his hours were long and he was too closely confined for a boy of his age. At the end of three months he showed this in his appearance. His good friend Pettigrew saw it and said one day, "Rodney, you are looking fagged out. You need a change."     "Does that mean that you are going to discharge me?" asked Rodney, with a smile.     "It means that I am going to give you a vacation."     "But what can I do if I take a vacation? I should not like lounging around Oreville with nothing to do."     "Such a vacation would do you no good. I'll tell you the plan I have for you. I own a small mine in Babcock, about fifty miles north of Oreville. I will send you up to examine it, and make a report to me. Can you ride on horseback?"     "Yes."     "That is well, for you will have to make your trip in that way. There are no railroads in that direction, nor any other way of travel except on foot or on horseback. A long ride like that with hours daily in the open air, will do you good.     What do you say to it?"     "I should like nothing better," replied Rodney, with his eyes sparkling. "Only, how will you get along without me?"     "I have a man in my employ at the mines who will do part of your work, and I will have a general oversight of things. So you need not borrow any trouble on that account. Do you think you can find your way?"     "Give me the general direction, and I will guarantee to do so. When shall I start?"     "Day after tomorrow. That will give me one day for making arrangements."

that I have a late visitor

    The key was turned in the lock, and Rodney entered with a lighted candle in his hand.     "You see, Rodney, that I have a late visitor. You will notice also that my bag of gold seems to have had an attraction for him."     "I am ashamed. I don't really know how to explain it except in this way. When you displayed the gold last night it drew my attention and I must have dreamed of it. It was this which drew me unconsciously to your door. It is certainly an interesting fact in mental science."     "It would have been a still more interesting fact if you had carried off the gold."     "I might even have done that in my unconsciousness, but of course I should have discovered it tomorrow morning and would have returned it to you."     "I don't feel by any means sure of that. Look here, Mr. Wheeler, if that is your name, you can't pull the wool over my eyes. You are a thief, neither more nor less."     "How can you misjudge me so, Mr. Pettigrew?"     "Because I know something of your past history. It is clear to me now that you were the person that stole John O'Donnell's money."     "Indeed, Mr. Pettigrew."     "It is useless to protest. How much of it have you left?"     Louis Wheeler was compelled to acknowledge the theft, and returned one hundred dollars to Jefferson Pettigrew.     "Now," said Jefferson, "I advise you to leave the hotel at once. If the boys find out that you are a thief you will stand a chance of being lynched. Get out!"

I couldn't be much worse off

    "Yes, uncle. I couldn't be much worse off. Then I hadn't a cent that I could call my own. But how are you and Aunt Nancy?"     "We're gettin' old, Jefferson, and misfortune has come to us. Squire Sheldon has got a mortgage on the farm and it's likely we'll be turned out. You've come just in time to see it."     "Is it so bad as that, Uncle Cyrus? Why, when I went away you were prosperous."     "Yes, Jefferson, I owned the farm clear, and I had money in the bank, but now the money's gone and there's a twelve hundred dollar mortgage on the old place," and the old man sighed.     "But how did it come about uncle? You and Aunt Nancy haven't lived extravagantly, have you? Aunt Nancy, you haven't run up a big bill at the milliner's and dressmaker's?"     "You was always for jokin', Jefferson," said the old lady, smiling faintly; "but that is not the way our losses came."     "How then?"     "You see I indorsed notes for Sam Sherman over at Canton, and he failed, and I had to pay. then I bought some wild cat minin' stock on Sam's recommendation, and that went down to nothin'. So between the two I lost about three thousand dollars. I've been a fool, Jefferson, and it would have been money in my pocket if I'd had a guardeen."     "So you mortgaged the place to Squire Sheldon, uncle?"     "Yes; I had to. I was obliged to meet my notes."     "But surely the squire will extend the mortgage."

as it was not enough to lift

    "I can't tell, sir, but I don't think I can spare more than three or four days."     "May I hope that you and Mr. Ropes will take supper with me tomorrow evening?"     "Say the next day and we'll come. Tomorrow I must go to my uncle's."     "Oh very well!"     Squire Sheldon privately resolved to pump Rodney as to the investment of his property. He was curious to learn first how much the boy was worth, for if there was anything that the squire worshiped it was wealth. He was glad to find that Mr. Pettigrew had only brought home five hundred dollars, as it was not enough to lift the mortgage on his uncle's farm.     After they were left alone Jefferson Pettigrew turned to Rodney and said, "Do you mind my leaving you a short time and calling at my uncle's?"     "Not at all, Mr. Pettigrew. I can pass my time very well."     Jefferson Pettigrew directed his steps to an old fashioned farmhouse about half a mile from the village. In the rear the roof sloped down so that the eaves were only five feet from the ground. The house was large though the rooms were few in number.     In the sitting room sat an old man and his wife, who was nearly as old. It was not a picture of cheerful old age, for each looked sad. The sadness of old age is pathetic for there is an absence of hope, and courage, such as younger people are apt to feel even when they are weighed down by trouble.     Cyrus Hooper was seventy one, his wife two years younger. During the greater part of their lives they had been well to do, if not prosperous, but now their money was gone, and there was a mortgage on the old home which they could not pay.

I shall be glad to know him

    "He is certainly a very fortunate young man," said the squire, impressed. "What is his name?"     "Rodney Ropes."     "The name sounds aristocratic. I shall be glad to know him."     "Rodney," said Mr. Pettigrew. "I want to introduce you to Squire Sheldon, our richest and most prominent citizen."     "I am glad to meet you, Squire Sheldon," said Rodney, offering his hand.     "I quite reciprocate the feeling, Mr. Ropes, but Mr. Pettigrew should not call me a rich man. I am worth something, to be sure."     "I should say you were, squire," said Jefferson. "Rodney, he is as rich as you are."     "Oh no," returned the squire, modestly, "not as rich as that. Indeed, I hardly know how much I am worth. As Mr. Pettigrew very justly observed it is not easy to gauge a man's possessions. But there is one difference between us. You, Mr. Ropes, I take it, are not over eighteen."     "Only sixteen, sir."     "And yet you are wealthy. I am rising fifty. When you come to my age you will be worth much more."     "Perhaps I may have lost all I now possess," said Rodney. "Within a year I have lost fifty thousand dollars."     "You don't say so."     "Yes; it was through a man who had charge of my property. I think now I shall manage my money matters myself."     "Doubtless you are right. That was certainly a heavy loss. I shouldn't like to lose so much. I suppose, however, you had something left?"     "Oh yes," answered Rodney in an indifferent tone.     "He must be rich to make so little account of fifty thousand dollars," thought the squire.     "How long do you propose to stay in town, Mr. Pettigrew?" he asked.

I have been to the far West

    "Very well, sir."     "You have been quite a traveler."     "Yes, sir; I have been to the far West."     "And met with some success, I am told."     "Yes, sir; I raised money enough to get home."     "I hear you brought home a few hundred dollars."     "Yes, sir."     "Oh, well," said the squire patronizingly, "that's good beginning."     "It must seem very little to a rich man like you, squire."     "Oh, no!" said the squire patronizingly. "You are a young man. I shouldn't wonder if by the time you get as old as I am you might be worth five thousand dollars."     "I hope so," answered Mr. Pettigrew demurely.     "By the way, you have brought a young man with you, I am told."     "Yes."     "I should like to make his acquaintance. He is rich, is he not?"     "I wish I was as rich."     "You don't say so! About how much do you estimate he is worth?"     "I don't think it amounts to quite as much as a quarter of a million. Still, you know it is not always easy to tell how much a person is worth."

thats with you as rich as

    "Yes. I know the country, and I can make a middlin' good livin' there."     "I say, is that boy thats with you as rich as they say?"     "I don't know what they say."     "They say he's worth a million."     "Oh no, not so much as that. He's pretty well fixed."     "Hasn't he got a father livin'?"     "No, it's his father that left the money."     "How did you happen to get in with him?"     "Oh, we met promiscuous. He took a sort of fancy to me, and that's the way of it."     "Do you expect to keep him with you?"     "He talks of goin' back to Montana with me. I'll be sort of guardian to him."     "You're in luck, Jeff."     "Yes, I'm in luck to have pleasant company. Maybe we'll join together and buy a mine."     "Would you mind introducin' him?"     "Not at all," and thus Rodney became acquainted with quite a number of the Burton young men. He was amused to see with what deference they treated him, but preserved a sober face and treated all cordially, so that he made a favorable impression on those he met.     Among those who made it in their way to call on the two travelers was Lemuel Sheldon, the rich man of the village.     "How do you do, Jefferson?" he said condescendingly.

and a lot of dock porters took

We made a great stir in Antwerp Docks. A stevedore and a lot of dock porters took up the two canoes, and ran with them for the slip. A crowd of children followed cheering. The Cigarette went off in a splash and a bubble of small breaking water. Next moment the Arethusa was after her. A steamer was coming down, men on the paddle-box shouted hoarse warnings, the stevedore and his porters were bawling from the quay. But in a stroke or two the canoes were away out in the middle of the Scheldt, and all steamers, and stevedores, and other 'long-shore vanities were left behind. The sun shone brightly; the tide was making--four jolly miles an hour; the wind blew steadily, with occasional squalls. For my part, I had never been in a canoe under sail in my life; and my first experiment out in the middle of this big river was not made without some trepidation. What would happen when the wind first caught my little canvas? I suppose it was almost as trying a venture into the regions of the unknown as to publish a first book, or to marry. But my doubts were not of long duration; and in five minutes you will not be surprised to learn that I had tied my sheet. I own I was a little struck by this circumstance myself; of course, in company with the rest of my fellow-men, I had always tied the sheet in a sailing-boat; but in so little and crank a concern as a canoe, and with these charging squalls, I was not prepared to find myself follow the same principle; and it inspired me with some contemptuous views of our regard for life. It is certainly easier to smoke with the sheet fastened; but I had never before weighed a comfortable pipe of tobacco against an obvious risk, and gravely elected for the comfortable pipe. It is a commonplace, that we cannot answer for ourselves before we have been tried. But it is not so common a reflection, and surely more consoling, that we usually find ourselves a great deal braver and better than we thought. I believe this is every one's experience: but an apprehension that they may belie themselves in the future prevents mankind from trumpeting this cheerful sentiment abroad. I wish sincerely, for it would have saved me much trouble, there had been some one to put me in a good heart about life when I was younger; to tell me how dangers are most portentous on a distant sight; and how the good in a man's spirit will not suffer itself to be overlaid, and rarely or never deserts him in the hour of need.

I haven't any words strong and

   "You like the mixture, then? You know I said I'd try to give you love and poetry together."    "Like it! I'm so glad, so proud, I haven't any words strong and beautiful enough to half express my wonder and my admiration. How could you do it, Mac?" And a whole face full of smiles broke loose as Rose clapped her hands, looking as if she could dance with sheer delight at his success.    "It did itself, up there among the hills, and here with you, or out alone upon the sea. I could write a heavenly poem this very minute, and put you in as Spring you look like her in that green gown with snowdrops in your bonny hair. Rose, am I getting on a little? Does a hint of fame help me nearer to the prize I'm working for? Is your heart more willing to be won?"    He did not stir a step, but looked at her with such intense longing that his glance seemed to draw her nearer like an irresistible appeal, for she went and stood before him, holding out both hands, as if she offered all her little store, as she said with simplest sincerity: "It is not worth so much beautiful endeavor, but if you still want so poor a thing, it is yours."    He caught her hands in his and seemed about to take the rest of her, but hesitated for an instant, unable to believe that so much happiness was true.    "Are you sure, Rose very sure? Don't let a momentary admiration blind you I'm not a poet yet, and the best are but mortal men, you know."    "It is not admiration, Mac."    "Nor gratitude for the small share I've taken in saving Uncle? I had my debt to pay, as well as Phebe, and was as glad to risk my life."    "No it is not gratitude."    "Nor pity for my patience? I've only done a little yet, and I am as far as ever from being like your hero. I can work and wait still longer if you are not sure, for I must have all or nothing."    "Oh, Mac! Why will you be so doubtful? You said you'd make me love you, and you've done it. Will you believe me now?" And, with a sort of desperation, she threw herself into his arms, clinging there in eloquent silence while he held her close; feeling, with a thrill of tender triumph, that this was no longer little Rose, but a loving woman, ready to live and die for him.

Birds sing sweetest in their own nests

   "I am so glad to make a little sacrifice for a great happiness I never shall regret it or think my music lost if it makes home cheerful for my mate. Birds sing sweetest in their own nests, you know." And Phebe bent toward him with a look and gesture which plainly showed how willingly she offered up all ambitious hopes upon the altar of a woman's happy love.    Both seemed to forget that they were not alone, and in a moment they were, for a sudden impulse carried Rose to the door of her sanctum, as if the south wind which seemed to have set in was wafting this little ship also toward the Islands of the Blessed, where the others were safely anchored now.    The room was a blaze of sunshine and a bower of spring freshness and fragrance, for here Rose had let her fancy have free play, and each garland, fern, and flower had its meaning. Mac seemed to have been reading this sweet language of symbols, to have guessed why Charlie's little picture was framed in white roses, why pansies hung about his own, why Psyche was half hidden among feathery sprays of maidenhair, and a purple passion flower lay at Cupid's feet. The last fancy evidently pleased him, for he was smiling over it, and humming to himself as if to beguile his patient waiting, the burden of the air Rose had so often sung to him:   "'Bonny lassie, will ye gang, will ye gang To the birks of Aberfeldie?'"    "Yes, Mac, anywhere!"      He had not heard her enter, and wheeling around, looked at her with a radiant face as he said, drawing a long breath, "At last! You were so busy over the dear man, I got no word. But I can wait I'm used to it."    Rose stood quite still, surveying him with a new sort of reverence in her eyes, as she answered with a sweet solemnity that made him laugh and redden with the sensitive joy of one to whom praise from her lips was very precious: "You forget that you are not the Mac who went away. I should have run to meet my cousin, but I did not dare to be familiar with the poet whom all begin to honor."

I shall be a year at least making up my mind

   "He has been in no haste to come home, and I am in no haste to leave it. Don't wait for me, 'Mr. and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Jr.,' I shall be a year at least making up my mind, so you may lead off as splendidly as you like and I'll profit by your experience." And Rose vanished into the parlor, leaving Steve to groan over the perversity of superior women and Kitty to comfort him by promising to marry him on May Day "all alone."    A very different couple occupied the drawing room, but a happier one, for they had known the pain of separation and were now enjoying the bliss of a reunion which was to last unbroken for their lives. Phebe sat in an easy chair, resting from her labors, pale and thin and worn, but lovelier in Archie's eyes than ever before. It was very evident that he was adoring his divinity, for, after placing a footstool at her feet, he had forgotten to get up and knelt there with his elbow on the arm of her chair, looking like a thirsty man drinking long drafts of the purest water.    "Shall I disturb you if I pass through?" asked Rose, loath to spoil the pretty tableau.    "Not if you stop a minute on the way and congratulate me, Cousin, for she says 'yes' at last!" cried Archie, springing up to go and bring her to the arms Phebe opened as she appeared.      "I knew she would reward your patience and put away her pride when both had been duly tried," said Rose, laying the tired head on her bosom with such tender admiration in her eyes that Phebe had to shake some bright drops from her own before she could reply in a tone of grateful humility that showed how much her heart was touched: "How can I help it, when they are all so kind to me? Any pride would melt away under such praise and thanks and loving wishes as I've had today, for every member of the family has taken pains to welcome me, to express far too much gratitude, and to beg me to be one of you. I needed very little urging, but when Archie's father and mother came and called me 'daughter,' I would have promised anything to show my love for them."    "And him," added Rose, but Archie seemed quite satisfied and kissed the hand he held as if it had been that of a beloved princess while he said with all the pride Phebe seemed to have lost: "Think what she gives up for me fame and fortune and the admiration of many a better man. You don't know what a splendid prospect she has of becoming one of the sweet singers who are loved and honored everywhere, and all this she puts away for my sake, content to sing for me alone, with no reward but love."

his spirits during the late anxiety

   IN the hall she found Steve and Kitty, for he had hidden his little sweetheart behind the big couch, feeling that she had a right there, having supported his spirits during the late anxiety with great constancy and courage. They seemed so cozy, billing and cooing in the shadow of the gay vase, that Rose would have slipped silently away if they had not seen and called to her.    "He's not gone I guess you'll find him in the parlor," said Steve, divining with a lover's instinct the meaning of the quick look she had cast at the hat rack as she shut the study door behind her.    "Mercy, no! Archie and Phebe are there, so he'd have the sense to pop into the sanctum and wait, unless you'd like me to go and bring him out?" added Kitty, smoothing Rose's ruffled hair and settling the flowers on the bosom where Uncle Alec's head had lain until he fell asleep.    "No, thank you, I'll go to him when I've seen my Phebe. She won't mind me," answered Rose, moving on to the parlor.    "Look here," called Steve, "do advise them to hurry up and all be married at once. We were just ready when Uncle fell ill, and now we cannot wait a day later than the first of May."    "Rather short notice," laughed Rose, looking back with the doorknob in her hand.    "We'll give up all our splendor, and do it as simply as you like, if you will only come too. Think how lovely! Three weddings at once! Do fly round and settle things there's a dear," implored Kitty, whose imagination was fired with this romantic idea.    "How can I, when I have no bridegroom yet?" began Rose, with conscious color in her telltale face.    "Sly creature! You know you've only got to say a word and have a famous one. Una and her lion will be nothing to it," cried Steve, bent on hastening his brother's affair, which was much too dilatory and peculiar for his taste.