 CHAPTER 10 HOW BELU AND ADAM ENTERED INTO A SOLOM LIG AND COVENANT Look at the moon tonight, Uncle Porges. I see it. It's awful big and round, isn't it? Yes, it's very big and very round. And, rather, yellow, isn't it? Very yellow. Just like a great, big, golden sovereign, isn't it? Very much like a sovereign, my Porges. Well, do you know, I was wondering if there was any chance that it was a... money-moon. They were leaning out at the lattice, small Porges and big Porges. Aunt Faya and Miss Priscilla were busy upon household matters, holy feminine, wherefore small Porges had drawn Bello to the window, and there they leaned, the small body enfolded by Bello's long arm, and the two faces turned up to the silvery splendor of the moon. But now Aunt Faya came up behind them, and, not noticing the position of Bello's arm as she leaned on the other side of small Porges, it befell that her hand touched, and, for a moment, rested upon Bello's hand, hidden as it was in the shadow. And this probably began it. The air of Arcadia, as has been said before, is an intoxicating air. But it is more. It is an air charged with a subtle magic whereby the commonest objects, losing their prosaic, matter-of-fact shapes, become transfigured into things of wonder and delight, little things that pass as mere ordinary common places, things insignificant and wholly beneath notice in the everyday world, become fraught with such infinite meaning, and may hold such sublime such undreamed of possibilities here in Arcadia. Thus, when it is recorded that Aunt Faya's hand accidentally touched and rested upon Bello's, the significance of it will become at once apparent. "'And pray,' said Aunt Faya, laying that same hand in the most natural manner in the world, upon the small Porges's curls, pray, what might you two be discussing so very solemnly?' "'The moon,' answered small Porges. I was wondering if it was a money-moon, and Uncle Porges hasn't said if it is yet.' "'Why, no, hold a chap,' answered Bello. I'm afraid not.' "'And pray,' said Aunt Faya again, what might a money-moon be?' "'Well,' explained small Porges, when the moon's just—just so. Then you go out and find a fortune, you know. But the moon's got to be a money-moon, and you're got to know, you know, else you'll find nothing, of course.' "'Ah, Georgie dear,' sighed Aunt Faya, stooping her dark head down to his golden curls, "'don't you know that fortunes are very hard to get, and that they have to be worked for, and that no one ever found one without a great deal of labour, and sorrow?' "'Course, everyone can't find fortunes, Aunt Faya. I know that. But we shall. My Uncle Porges knows all about it, you see. And I know that we shall. I'm sure and sure we shall find one some day, because, you see, I put it in my prayers now. At the end, you know, I say, and please help me and my Uncle Porges to find a fortune when the money-moon comes. A big one. World without end. Amen.' "'So, you see, it's all right, and we're just waiting till the money-moon comes. Aren't we, Uncle Porges?' "'Yes, old chap. Yes. Not at Bellew, until the money-moon comes.' And so there fell a silence between them, yet a silence that held a wondrous charm of its own. A silence that lasted so long that the coppery curls drooped lower, and lower upon Bellew's arm, until Aunt Faya, sighing, rose, and in a very tender voice, bad small Porges say good night. The which he did, forthwith, slumberous a voice, and sleepy-eyed, and so, with his hand in Aunt Faya's, went drowsily up to bed. Wherefore, seeing that Miss Priscilla had bustled away into the kitchen, Bellew sauntered out into the rose-garden to look upon the beauty of the night. The warm air was fragrant with dewy scents, and the moon, already high above the treetops, poured down their gentle radiance upon the quaint old garden with its winding walks, and clipped ewe hedges, while upon the quiet, from the dim shadow of the distant woods, stole the soft sweet song of a nightingale. Bellew walked a path bordered with flowers, and checkered with silver patches of moonlight, drinking in the thousand beauties about him, staring up at the glory of the moon, the indigo of the sky, and listening to the voice of the lonely singer in the wood. And yet it was of none of these he was thinking as he paused under the shadow of King Arthur, nor of small justice, nor of any one or any thing in this world, but only of the sudden light touch of a warm, soft hand upon his. Be that you, sir! Bellew started, and now he found that he had been sitting all this while with an empty pipe between his teeth, yet content therewith, wherefore he shook his head and wondered, Be that you, Mr. Bellew, sir! Yes, Adam, it is I. Ah! And how might you be feeling now after your exercise with the pitchfork, sir? Very fit, I thank you, Adam. Sit down and smoke, and let us converse together. Why, thank ye, sir! answered Adam, producing the small black clay pipe from his waistcoat pocket, and accepting Bellew's proffered pouch. I bid upst thou, sir, visit and prudence the cook, and a rare cook she be, too, Mr. Bellew, sir. And a rare pupsome girl into the bargain, Adam. Oh, ah! Well, she's well enough, sir. I won't go for to deny, as she's a fine upstanding, well-shaped, tall, and proper figure of a woman as ever was, sir. Though the kentish lasses be a tidy lot, Mr. Bellew, sir. But, Lord, when you come to think of her gift of Yorkshire pudding, likewise jam-rollers and seed-cakes, which, though mentioned last, ain't by no manner of means least, when you come to think of her brew of ale, and cider, and ginger wine, why, then, I'm took, sir. I'm took altogether, and the old Adam inside of me works herself into such a state that if another chap, especially that there Job Jagway, gets look at her way, and too often, why, it's got to get took out of him. What took out of me in good-hard knocks, Mr. Bellew, sir? And when are you going to get married, Adam? Well, sir, we was thinking that if Miss Antteia has a good season this year, we'd get it over and done with some time in October, sir. But it's all according. According to what? To the ops, sir. The H-O-P-S-Ops, sir. They're coming on fine. Ah, scrumptious they be. If they don't take the blight, sir, they'll be the finest ops this cider made stone. But then, if they do take the blight, why, then, my hopes is blighted likewise, sir. B-L-I-T-E-D blighted, Mr. Bellew, sir. Which said, Adam laughed once, nodded his head several times, and relapsed into puffing silence. Mr. Castellus was over today, Adam, said Bellew, after a while, pursuing a train of thought. Ah, sir, I seen him. He also seen me. He told me his Job Jagway was up and about again. Likewise, Job Jagway will be over here to-morrow, along with the rest of him, for the sale, sir. Ah, yes, the sale, said Bellew thoughtfully. To think of that there Job Jagway, a comin' over here to buy Miss Antteia's furniture, do set the old Adam a workin' inside of me, to that amazing extent, is I can't sit still, Mr. Bellew, sir. And if that there Job crosses my path to morrow, well, let him. Look out, that's all. Saying which, Adam doubled up a huge knotted fist and shook it at an imaginary Job. Adam, said Bellew, in the same thoughtful tone, I wonder if you would do something for me. Anything you ask me, sir, so long as you don't want me to, I want you to buy some of that furniture for me. What? exclaimed Adam, and vented his great laugh again. Well, if not I do couldn't, sir, and it's just what I'm not going to do. You see, I ain't what you might call a rich cove, nor yet a millionaire, but I've got a bit put by, and I drawed out ten pound yesterday. Thinks I, here's to save Miss Antteia's old sideboard, or the mirror, as she so found it, or if not, why then a cheer or so. They ain't going to get it all, not while I've got a pound or two, I says to myself. Adam, said Bellew, turning suddenly, that sentiment does you credit. That sentiment makes me proud to have knocked you into a ditch. Shake hands, Adam. And there, beneath the great apple tree, while the moon looked on, they very solemnly shook hands. And now, Adam, pursued Bellew, I want you to put back your ten pounds, keep it for prudence, because I happen to have rather more than we shall want. See here. And with the words, Bellew took out a leather wallet, and from this wallet, money and banknotes. More money and more banknotes than Adam had ever beheld in all his thirty-odd years, at sight of which his eyes opened, and his squared jaw relaxed, to the imminent danger of his cherished clay pipe. I want you to take this, Bellew went on, counting a sum into Adam's nervous hand, and tomorrow, when the sale begins, if anyone makes a bid for anything, I want you to bid higher, and no matter what, you must always buy. Always, you understand. But, sir, that's their old drawer-and-room cabinet with the card-wings. Buy it. And the silver candlesticks, and the four-post bench-stead, and buy them, Adam, buy everything. If we haven't enough money, there's plenty more where this came from. Only buy. You understand? Oh, yes, sir, I understand. How much have you given me? Why, here's forty-five, fifty-sixty? Lord! Put it away, Adam. Forget all about it till to-morrow. And not a word, mind. A hundred pound! Yes, Adam. Lord! Oh, I won't speak of it. Trust me, Mr. Bellew, sir. But think of me walking about with a hundred pound in my pocket. Lord! I won't say nothing. But to think of old Adam with a hundred pound in his pocket, he can't! It do seem that comical. Saying which, Adam buttoned the money into a capacious pocket, slapped it, nodded, and rose. Well, sir, I'll be going. There'll be Miss Anthea in the garden yonder. And if she was to see me now, there's no saying but I should be took a laugh and to think of this ear a hundred pound. Miss Anthea, where? Coming through the rose garden. She be off to see Old Mother Dibbon. They call Mother Dibbon a witch. And now, as she's down with the romantics, there ain't nobody to look after her. Except Miss Anthea. She'd astirved before now if it hadn't been for Miss Anthea. But Lord, love your eyes and limbs, Mr. Bellew, sir. Miss Anthea don't care if she's a witch or fifty witches, not she. So good night, Mr. Bellew, sir, and mumps the word. Saying which, Adam slapped his pocket again, nodded, winked, and went upon his way. CHAPTER 11 OF THE MAN WITH THE TIGER MARK It is a moot question as to whether a curl can be more alluring when it glows beneath the fiery kisses of the sun, or shines demurely in the tender radiance of the moon. As Bellew looked at it now, that same small curl that nodded and beckoned to him above Anthea's left ear, he strongly inclined to the latter opinion. Adam tells me that you're going out, Miss Anthea. Only as far as Mrs. Dibbon's cottage, just across the meadow. Adam also informs me that Mrs. Dibbon is a witch. People call her so. Never in all my days have I seen a genuine old witch, so I'll come with you, if I may. Oh, this is a very gentle old witch, and she has neither humped back nor does she ride a broomstick, and so I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, Mr. Bellew. Then, at least, I can carry your basket. Allow me." And so, in his quiet, masterful fashion, he took the basket from her arm and walked on beside her through the orchard. "'What a glorious night it is!' exclaimed Anthea, suddenly, drawing a deep breath of the fragrant air. Oh, it is good to be alive. In spite of all the cares and worries, life is very sweet.' After this they walked on some distance in silence, she, gazing wistfully upon the beauties of the familiar world about her, while he watched the curl above her ear until she, becoming aware of it all at once, promptly sent it back into retirement, with a quick, deft little pat of her fingers. "'I hope,' said Bellew at last, "'I do sincerely hope that you tucked up my nephew safe in bed, you see. Your nephew indeed. But our nephew, then. I ask, because he tells me that he can't possibly sleep, unless you go to tuck him up, and I can quite believe it.' "'Do you know, Mr. Bellew, I'm growing quite jealous of you. He can't move a step without you, and he is forever talking and alluding your numberless virtues. Oh, but then, I'm only an uncle after all, and if he talks of me to you—or he talks of you to me all day long—'Oh, does he?' And, among other things, he told me that I ought to see you when your hair is down and all about you.' "'Oh!' exclaimed Anfeya. "'Indeed, our nephew is much luckier than I, because I never had an aunt of my own to come and tuck me up at night, with her hair hanging all about her, like a beautiful cloak. So, you see, I have no boyish recollections to go upon, but I think I can imagine—' "'And what do you think of the sergeant?' Anfeya inquired, changing the subject abruptly. I like him so much that I'm going to take him at his word and call upon him at the first opportunity.' "'Did Aunt Priscilla tell you that he comes marching along regularly every day at exactly the same hour?' "'Yes, to see how the peaches are getting on, knotted bellow. For such a very brave soldier he is a dreadful coward,' said Aunt Priscilla, smiling, it has taken him five years to screw up enough courage to tell her that she's uncommonly young for her age. And yet I think it is just that dividends that makes him so lovable. And he is so simple and so gentle in spite of all his war-medals. When I am moody and cross, the very sight of him is enough to put me in humor again. He has never spoken to Miss Priscilla. Never, though, of course, she knows, and has done from the very first. I asked him once why he had never told her what it was brought him so regularly to look at the peaches. And he said in his quick, sharp way, "'In Miss Anthea, can't be done, ma'am. A poor battered old soldier, only one arm. No, ma'am. I wondered if one could find just such another sergeant outside Arcadia,' said Bello. I wonder. Now they were approaching a style towards which Bello had directed his eyes from time to time, as, for that matter, curiously enough, had Anthea. But to him it seemed that it never would be reached, while to her it seemed that it would be reached much too soon. Therefore she began to rack her mind, trying to remember some gate or any gap in the hedge that should obviate the necessity of climbing it. But before she could recall any such gate or gap, they were at the style, and Bello, leaping over, had set down the basket and stretched out his hand to aid her over. But Anthea, tall and live, active and vigorous with her outdoor life, and used to such things from her infancy, stood a moment hesitating. To be sure, the style was rather high, yet she could have vaulted it nearly, if not quite, as easily as Bello himself had she been alone. But then she was not alone. Moreover, be it remembered, this was in Arcadia of a Midsummer Night. Thus she hesitated, only a moment it is true, for seeing the quizzical look in his eyes that always made her vaguely rebellious, with a quick light movement she mounted the style, and there paused to shake her head in laughing disdain of his outstretched hand. Then there was the sound of rending cambric. She tripped, and next moment he had caught her in his arms. It was for but a very brief instant that she lay soft and yielding in his embrace, yet she was conscious of how strong were the arms that held her so easily, ere they set her down. I beg your pardon, how awkward I am, she exclaimed in hot mortification. No, said Bello, shaking his head. It was a nail, you know, a bent and rusty nail, here under the top bar. Is your dress much torn? Oh, that is nothing. Thank you. So they went on again, but now they were silent once more, and very naturally, for Anthea was mindlessly angry, with herself, the style Bello, and everything concerned, while he was thinking of the sudden warm clasp of her arms, of the alluring fragrance of her hair, and of the shy droop of her lashes as she lay in his embrace. Therefore, as he walked on beside her, saying nothing, within his secret soul he poured benedictions upon the head of that bent and rusty nail. And presently, having turned down a grassy lane and crossed a small but very noisy brook that chattered impertenences among the stones and chuckled at them slyly from the shadows, they eventually came upon a small and very lonely little cottage, bowered in roses and honeysuckle, as are all the cottages hereabouts. But now, Anthea paused, looking at Bello with a dubious brow. I ought to warn you that Mrs. Dibbon is very old, and sometimes a little queer, and sometimes says very surprising things. Excellent, nodded Bello, holding the little gate open for her, very right in proper conduct in a which, and I love surprises above all things. But Anthea still hesitated, while Bello stood with his hand upon the gate, waiting for her to enter. Now he had left his hat behind him, and as the moon shone down on his bare head, she could not but notice how bright and yellow was his hair, despite the thick black brows below. I think I would rather you wait it outside, if you don't mind, Mr. Bello. You mean that I am to be denied the joy of conversing with a real live old witch, and having my fortune told? He sighed. Well, if such is your will so be it, said he obediently, and handed her the basket. I won't keep you waiting very long, and— Thank you! she smiled, and hurrying up the narrow path, she tapped at the cottage door. Come in! Come in! Quite an old, quavering voice, albeit very sharp and piercing. That be my own soft dove of a maid, my proud, beautiful white lady. Come in! Come in! And bring him with you. Him is so big and strong, him as I've expected so long, the tall, golden man from overseas. Let him come in, Miss Anthea, that goodie-dibbons old eyes may look at him at last. Hereupon, at a sign from Anthea, Bello turned in at the gate, and, striding up the path, entered the cottage. Despite the season, a fire burned upon the hearth, and, crouched over this, in a great elbow-chair, had a very bent and aged woman. Her face was furrowed and seemed with numberless lines and wrinkles, but her eyes were still bright, and she wore no spectacles. Likewise, her white hair was wonderfully thick and abundant, as could plainly be seen beneath the fill of her cap, for, like the very small room of this very small cottage, she was extremely neat and tidy. She had a great curving nose and a great curving chin, and what with this and her bright black eyes and a stooping figure, she was very much like what a witch should be, albeit a very superior kind of a witch. She sat for a while, staring up at Bello, who stood tall and bare-headed, smiling down at her, and then, all at once, she nodded her head three several and distinct times. Right! she quavered. Right! Right! It be all right! The golden man as I've watched this many, many a day, with the curly hair, and the sleepy eye, and the tiger mark upon his arm. Right! Right! What do you mean by tiger mark, inquired Bello? I mean, younger master, with your golden curls, I mean as, sitting here day in and day out, staring down into my fire, I has my dreams. Deastways, I calls on my dreams, though theirs them is calls it the second sight. But pray, sit down tall, sir, on the stool there, and you, my tender maid, my dark lady, come you here, upon my right, and if you wish, I'll look into the ink, or read your privy hand, or tell you what I see down there in the fire. But no, first show what you have brought for old Nanny in the blessed basket, the fine, strong basket is old so much. Yes, set it down here, where I can open it myself, tall sir. A. What's this? T. Oh, God bless you for the tea, my dear, and eggs and butter, and a cold chicken. The Lord bless your kind heart, Miss Anthea. Oh, my proud lady, happy the man who shall win ye. Happy the man who shall win ye, my dark, beautiful maid, and strong must he be, I, and masterful he who shall wake the love-light in those dark, great, passionate eyes of yours. And there is no man in all this world can do it, but he must be a golden man, with a tiger mark upon him. Why, oh Nanny, I blush if you will, my dark lady, but Mother Dibbon knows she seen it in the fire, dreamed it in her dreams, and read it in the ink. The path lies very darker for me, my lady. I very dark it be, and full of cares and troubles. But there's the sun shining beyond, bright and golden. You be proud, and high, and scornful, my lady. It is in your blood. You need a strong hand to guide ye. And the strong hand shall come. By force you shall be wooed, and by force you shall be wed. And there be no man strong enough to woo and wed ye, but him as I've told ye of, him, as bears the tiger mark. But Nanny, sit on Fay again, gently interrupting her, and patting the old woman's shriveled hand, you're forgetting the basket you haven't found all we've brought you yet. Aye, aye, not at all, Nanny, the fine, strong basket. Let's see what more be in the good, kind basket. Here's bread, and a sugar, and a pound of your favorite tobacco. Sit on Fay with a smiling nod. Oh, the good weed, the blessed weed! Cried the old woman, clutching the package with trembling fingers. Ah, who can tell the comfort it has been to me in the long, long days, and the long, long nights, the blessed weed! Would I've sat here a-looking and a-looking into the fire? Oh, God bless you, my sweet maid, for your kindly thought! And with a sudden gesture, she caught on Fay's hand to her lips, and then, just as suddenly, turned upon Bello. And now, tall sir, can I do art for ye? Shall I look into the fire for ye, or the ink, or read your hand? Why, yes, answered Bello, stretching out his hand to her. You shall tell me two things, if you will. First, shall one ever find his way into the castle of heart's desire, and secondly, when? Oh, but I don't need to look into her hand to tell you that, tall sir, nor yet in the ink or in the fire, for I've dreamed it all in my dreams. And now, see you, it is a strong place this castle, with thick doors and great locks and bars. But I've seen those doors broke down, those great locks and bars burst asunder. But there is none can do this but him as bears the tiger mark, so much for the first, and for the second. Happiness shall come riding to you on the full moon, but you must reach up and take it for yourself, if you be tall enough. And even you are not tall enough to do that, Mr. Bello. Left Anthea as she rose to bid old Nanny good night, while Bello, unnoticed, slipped certain coins upon a corner of the chimney-piece. So old Nanny blessed them, and theirs, past, present, and future, thoroughly and completely, with a fine comprehensiveness that only a genuinely accomplished old witch might hope to attain to, and, following them to the door, paused there with one shriveled, claw-like hand uplifted towards the sky. At the fall of the moon, tall sir, she repeated, At the fall of the moon, as for you, my dark-eyed lady, I say, by force you shall be wood, and by force you shall be wed. Aye, aye. But there is no man strong enough except to have the tiger mark upon him. Old Nanny knows, she seen it in the ink, dreamed it in the fire, and read it all in your pretty hand. And now, if thank ye for the tea, my pretty, and God bless ye for the good weed, and just so sure as you've been good and kind to old Nanny, so shall fortune be good and kind to you, Miss Anthea. Poor old Nanny, said Anthea, as they went on down the grassy lane, she is so very grateful for so little, and she is such a gentle old creature, really, though the country folk do call her a witch, and are afraid of her, because they say she has the evil eye, which is ridiculous, of course, but nobody ever goes near her, and she is dreadfully lonely, poor old thing. And so that is why you come to sit with her, and let her talk to you? Enquired Bealu, staring up at the moon. Yes. And do you believe in her dreams and visions? No, of course not, answered Anthea rather hurriedly, and with a deeper color in her cheeks, though Bealu was still intent upon the moon. You don't either, do you? She inquired, seeing he was silent. Well, I don't quite know, he answered slowly, but she is rather a wonderful old lady, I think. Yes, she has wonderful thick hair still, not an Anthea, and she's not a bit deaf, and her eyes are as clear and sharp as ever they were. Yes, but I wasn't meaning her eyes, or her hair, or her hearing. Oh, then pray, what were you pleased to me? Did you happen to notice what she said about a man with a tiger mark, inquired Bealu, still gazing up at the moon? Anthea laughed. The man with a tiger mark? Of course. He has been much in her dreams lately, and she has talked with him a great deal. Has she? said Bealu. Ha! Yes, her mind is full of strange twists and fancies. You see, she is so very old, and she loves to tell me her dreams and read the future for me. Though, of course, you don't believe it, said Bealu. Believe it? Anthea repeated, and walked some dozen paces or so before she answered. No, of course not. Then, none of your fortune, nothing she told you has ever come true? Once more Anthea hesitated, this time so long that Bealu turned from his moon gazing to look at her. I mean, he went on. Has none of it ever come true about this man with a tiger mark, for instance? No, oh no! answered Anthea, rather hastily, and laughed again. Old Nani has seen him in her dreams, everywhere, in India, in Africa, in China, in hot countries and cold countries. Oh! Nani has seen him everywhere, but I have seen him nowhere. And of course, I never shall. Ah! said Bealu. And she reads him always in your fortune, does she? And I listen very patiently, Anthea nodded, because it pleases her so much. And it is also very harmless, after all, isn't it? Yes, answered Bealu. And very wonderful. Wonderful? Poor old Nani is fancies! What do you mean by wonderful? Upon my word, I hardly know, said Bealu, shaking his head. But there are more things in heaven and earth, etc., you know. And this is one of them. Really? Now you grow mysterious, Mr. Bealu. Like the knight, he answered, turning to aid her across the impertinent brook that chuckled at them and laughed after them, as only such a very impertinent brook possibly could. So, but times they reached the style and crossed it, this time without mishap, despite the lurking nail and, all too soon for Bealu, had traversed the orchard, and were come to the garden where the roses all hung so still upon their stems that they might have been asleep, and filling the air with the perfume of their dreams. And here they paused, perhaps, because of the witchery of the moon, perhaps to listen to the voice of the nightingale who sang on more gloriously than ever. Yet, though they stood so close together, their glances seldom met, and they were very silent. But at last, as though making up her mind, Anthea spoke. What did you mean when you said Old Nani's dreams were so wonderful? She asked. I'll show you. He answered. And while he spoke, slipped off his coat, and, drawing up his shirt sleeve, held out a muscular white arm towards her. He held it out in the full radiance of the moon, and thus, looking down at it, her eyes grew suddenly wide, and her breath caught strangely as surprise gave place to something else, for there, plain to be seen upon the white flesh, were three long scars that wound up from elbow to shoulder. And so, for a while, they stood thus, she looking at his arm, and he at her. Why? she said at last, finding voice a little gasp. Why then? I am the man with a tiger-mark, he said, smiling his slow, placid smile. Now, as his eyes looked down into hers, she flushed sudden and hot, and her glance wavered, and fell beneath his. Oh! she cried, and with the word turned about, and fled from him into the house. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of The Money Moon This liver-box recording is in the public domain. The Money Moon, a Romance, by Jeffrey Farnall. Chapter 12, in which may be found a full, true, and particular account of the sale. Uncle Porges! There's a little man in the hall with a red, red nose, and a blue, blue chin. Yes, I've seen him. Also his nose and chin, my Porges. But he's sticking little papers with numbers on them all over my Auntie Anthea's chairs and tables. Now what do you suppose he's doing that for? Who knows? It's probably all an account of his red nose and blue chin, my Porges. Anyway, don't worry about him. Let us rather find our Auntie Anthea. They found her in the hall, and it was a hall here at Dappelmere, wide and high, and with a minstrel's gallery at one end. A hall that, years and years ago, had often rung with the clash of minute arms, and echoed with loud and jovial laughter, for this was the most ancient part of the manor. It looked rather bare and barren just now, for the furniture was all moved out of place, ranged neatly round the walls, and stacked at the farther end, beneath the gallery where the little man in question, blue of chin and red of nose, was hovering about it, dabbing little tickets on chairs and tables, even as small Porges had said. And in the midst of it all stood Anthea. A desolate figure, bellow thought, who, upon his entrance, bent her head to draw on her driving-gloves, for she was waiting for the dog-cart which was to bear her and small Porges to Cranbrook, far away from the hollow tap of the auctioneer's hammer. We're getting rid of some old furniture, you see, Mr. Bellew. She said, laying her hand on an antique cabinet nearby, we really have much more than we ever use. Yes, said Bellew. But he noticed that her eyes were very dark and wistful, despite her light tone, and that she had laid her hand upon the old cabinet, with a touch very like a caress. Why is that man's nose so awful red, and his chin so blue, Auntie Anthea? Enquired small Porges in a hissing stage whisper. Hush, Georgie. I don't know, said Anthea. And why is he sticking his little numbers all over our best furniture? That is to guide the auctioneer. Where to, and what is an auctioneer? But at this moment, hearing the wheels of the dog-cart at the door, Anthea turned, and hastened out into the sunshine. A lovely day at Doobie for driving. Said Adam, touching his hat, and best be thick and the same, I do believe. And he patted the glossy coat of the mare, who arched her neck, and pawed the gravel with an impatient hoof. Lightly and nimbly, Anthea swung herself up to the high seat, turning to make small Porges secure beside her, as Bellew handed him up. You'll look after things for me, Adam? Said Anthea, glancing back wistfully into the dim recesses of the cool old hall. I—I will that, Miss Anthea. Mr. Bellew, we could find room for you if you care to come with us. Thanks, said he, shaking his head, but I rather think I'll stay here, and— help Adam to—to—to look after things, if you don't mind. Then, good-bye, said Anthea, and nodding to Adam, he gave the mare her head, and off they went. Good-bye! cried small Porges. I thank you for the shilling, Uncle Porges. The mare is rather fresh this morning, isn't she, Adam? Inquired Bellew, watching the dog-cart's rapid course. Fresh, sir? And that's rather a dangerous sort of thing for a woman to drive, isn't it? Meaning the dog-cart, sir. Meaning the dog-cart, Adam. Why, Lord love you, Mr. Bellew, sir! Cried Adam with his great laugh. There ain't nobody can handle the ribbons better than Miss Anthea. There ain't a horse if she can't drive. Ah, all right, for that matter. Not nowhere, sir. Hum! said Bellew, and, having watched the dog-cart out of sight, he turned and followed Adam into the stables. And here, sitting upon a bale of hay, they smoked many pipes together in earnest converse, until such time as the sale should begin. As the day advanced, people began arriving in twos and threes, and, among the first, the auctioneer himself. A jovial-faced man was this auctioneer with jovial manner and a jovial smile. Indeed, his joviality seemed, somehow or other, to have got into the very buttons of his coat, for they fairly winked and twinkled with joviality. Upon catching sight of the furniture, he became, if possible, more jovial than ever, and beckoning to his assistant—that is, to say, to the small man with the red nose and the blue chin, who, it seemed, answered to the name of Theodore. He clapped him jovially upon the back, rather as though he were knocking him down to some unfortunate bitter, and immediately fell into business converse with him, albeit jovial still. But all the while intending purchasers were arriving. They came on horse and a foot, and in conveyances of every sort and kind, and the tread of their feet, and the buzz of their voices awoke unwonted echoes in the old place, and still they came, from far and near, until some hundred odd people were crowded into the hall. Conspicuous among them was a large man with a fat red neck which he was continually mopping at, and, rubbing with a vivid bandana handkerchief, scarcely less red. Indeed, red seemed to be his pervading color, for his hair was red, his hands were red, and his face, heavy and round, was reddest of all, out of whose flaming circumference too diminutive but very sharp eyes winked and blinked continually. His voice, like himself, was large with a peculiar brassy ring to it that penetrated to the farthest corners and recesses of the old hall. He was, beyond all doubt, a man of substance and of no small importance, for he was greeted deferentially on all hands, and it was to be noticed that people elbowed each other to make way for him, as people ever will before substance and property. To some of them he knotted, to some he spoke, and with others he even laughed, albeit. He was of a solemn, sober and serious nature, as becomes a man of property and substance. Between wiles, however, he bestowed his undivided attention upon the furniture. He sat down suddenly and heavily in chairs. He pummeled them with his plump red fists, whereby to test their springs. He opened the doors of cabinets. He peered into drawers. He rapped upon tables, and altogether comported himself as a thoroughly knowing man should, who is not to be hokest by veneer, or taken in by the shine and splendor of well-applied beeswax. Bellew, watching all this from where he sat, screened from the throng by a great carved sideboard, and diverse chairs and what-nots, drew rather harder at his pipe, and, chancing to catch Adam's eye, beckoned him to approach. Who is that round red man yonder, Adam? He inquired, not into where the individual in question was engaged at that moment, poking at something or other with a large sausage-like finger. That, replied Adam in a tone of profound disgust, that be, Mr. Grimes, a Cranbrook, sir. Calls himself a corn-chandler, but I call him, well, never mind what, sir. Only it weren't a corn-chandler, as he made all his money, sir, and it be him, as we all work and slay for, here at Dappelmere Farm. What do you mean, Adam? I mean, as it be him, as holds the mortgage on Dappelmere, sir. Ah! And how much? Over three thousand pounds, Mr. Bellew, sir, cite Adam, with a hopeless shake of the head, and that be a powerful lot of money, sir. Bellew thought of the sums he had lavished upon his yacht, upon his three racing cars, and certain other extravagances. Three thousand pounds. Fifteen thousand dollars. It would make her a free woman, independent, happy. Just fifteen thousand dollars. And he had thrown away more than that upon a poker game before now. Lord, exclaimed Adam, the very sight of that dear Grimes' pig-eyes, a stare at Miss Anteus' furniture, do make the old Adam rise up in me to that amazing extent, Mr. Bellew, sir. I just look at him, a thumpin' and a poundin' at that dear chair. Saying which, Adam turned and elbowing his way to where Mr. Grimes was in the act of testing the springs of an easy chair, he promptly, and as though forced by a struggling mob, fell up against Mr. Grimes and jostled Mr. Grimes and trod heavily upon the toes of Mr. Grimes, and all with an expression of the most profound unconsciousness and abstraction, which, upon the indignant corn-chandler's loud expostulations, immediately changed to a look of innocent surprise. Got you, look where you're going, you clumsy fool! Fumed the irate Grimes, redder of neck than ever. Oh, ox, pardon Mr. Grimes, said Adam solemnly, but what with people's legs and cheer legs and the legs at tables, not to mention cyborgs and cabinets, which, though not ever no legs, ain't to be by no matter a means despised therefore? What with this, said that, and tether? I am that confined, or, as you might say, confused. I don't know which legs is mine, or gone, or anybody else's, Mr. Grimes, sir. I make so bold as to act sure pardon all over again, sir. During which speech, Adam contrived once more to fall against, to tread upon, and to jostle the highly incensed Mr. Grimes back into the crowd again. Thereafter he became a nemesis to Mr. Grimes, haunting him through the jungle of chairs and tables, pursuing him into distant corners and shady places, where, so sure as the sausage-like finger poised itself for an interrogatory poke, or the fat red fist doubled itself for a spring-testing punch, the innocent-seeming Adam would, thereupon, fall against him from the rear, sideways, or in front. Meanwhile, Bellew sat in his secluded corner, watching the crowd through the blue wreaths of his pipe, but thinking of her who, brave though she was, had nevertheless run away from it all at the last moment. Presently, however, he was aware that the corn-chandler had seated himself on the other side of the chiffonniere, puffing and panting with heat and indignation, where he was presently joined by another individual, a small, rat-eyed man who bid Mr. Grimes a deferential, go to-day. That there, Adam, puffed the corn-chandler, that there, Adam, ought to be throwed out into the stables where he belongs. I never see a man with so much grode to beat nalbers in all my days. He ought to be took, repeated the corn-chandler, and shook, and throwed out into the yard. Yes, not of the other, took, and shook, and throwed out, knuck, and cropped, sir. And now, what might you think of the furniture, Mr. Grimes? So-so, Parsons, not at Grimes, so-so. Shall you buy? I am a-going, said the corn-chandler, with much deliberation. I am a-going to take them tapestry- cheers, sir. Likewise, the grandfather clock in the corner here. Likewise, the four-post bed-stead, with the carved edboard. And most particular Parsons. I shall seek this year's sideboard. Great another piece like this in the counties I know of. Solid mahogany, sir. And the carvings. And herewith he gave two loud double knocks upon the article of furniture in question. Oh, I've had my eye on this sideboard for years and years. No doubt I'd get it some day, too. The only wonder is, she ain't had to sell up before now. Meaning Miss Arthéa, sir? Ah, her. I say as it's a wonder to me, what with the interest on the mortgage I owed on the place, and one thing or another, it's a wonder to me she's kept her head above water so long. But mark me, Parsons, mark me. She'll be selling again soon, and next time it'll be lock, stock, and barrel, Parsons. Well, I don't hold with women farmers myself. Not at Parsons. But, as to that cupboard over there, Sheraton, I think, what might your supposed to be worth, betwixt friends now? Enquired Parsons, the rat-eyed. I can't say I've seen it, likewise felt it. Answered the corn-chandler, rising. Let me lay my hand upon it, and I'll tell you to her shilling. And here they all pulled their way into the crowd. But Bellew sat there, chin in hand, quite oblivious to the fact that his pipe was out long since. The tall old grandfather-clock, ticking and leisurely fashion, in the corner behind him, solemn and sedate, as it had done since, as the neat inscription upon the dial testified, it had first been made in the year of grace, 1732, by one Jabez Habisham of London. This ancient time-piece now uttered a sudden wheeze, which, considering its great age, could scarcely be wondered at, and thereafter, the wheezing have subsided, gave forth a soft and mellow chime, proclaiming to all and sundry, that it was twelve o'clock. Hereupon the auctioneer, bustling to and fro with his hat upon the back of his head, consulted his watch, knotted to the red-nosed blue-chinned Theodore, and perching himself above the crowd, gave three sharp knocks with his hammer. Gentlemen, he began, but here he was interrupted by a loud voice appraised in hot anger. Can't found you for the clumsy rascal? Will you keep them elbows a yearn out of my wesquit, eh? Will you keep them big feet a yearn to yourself? If there ain't enough room for you, out you go, do you hear? I'll have you took and shook and crowed out where you belong. So just mind where you come a-trapin' at a-treadin'. Tread, repeated Adam Lord, where am I to tread? If I steps backwards I tread on ye, if I steps sideways I tread on ye, if I steps forward I tread on ye. It do seem to me as I can't go nowhere, but there you be awaiting to be trod on, Mr. Grimes, sir. Hereupon the auctioneer, wrapped louder than ever, upon which the clamor subsiding, he smiled his most jovial smile, and once more began. Gentlemen, you have all had an opportunity to examine the furniture I am about to dispose of, and as fair-minded human beings, I think you will admit that a finer lot of genuine antique was never offered at one at the same time. Gentlemen, I am not going to bust forth into laudatory rudimentaid, which is a word, gentlemen, that I employ only among an enlightened community such as I now have the honour of addressing. Neither do I suppose to waste your time in purposeless verbiage, which is another of the same kind, gentlemen. Therefore, without further preface or preamble, we will proceed at once to business. The first lot I have to offer you is a screen, six foot high. Bring out the screen, Theodore. There it is, gentlemen. Open it out, Theodore. Observe, gentlemen. It is carved rosewood, the panels hand-painted, and representing shepherds and shepherdesses, disporting themselves under a tree with banjo and guitar. Now, what have I offered for this hand-painted antique screen? Come. Fifteen shillings from someone deep hidden in the crowd. Start as low as you like, gentlemen. I have offered a miserable fifteen shillings for a genuine hand-painted sixteen. This, from a long, loose-limbed fellow with a patch over one eye and another on his cheek. Applaud, said Adam promptly. Again he, not at he of the patches. Twenty-five shillings, said Adam. At twenty-five shillings, cried the auctioneer, honey-advance, a genuine hand-painted antique screen, going at twenty-five, at twenty-five, going, going, gone, to the large gentleman in the neck-cloth Theodore. There be that job jogway, sir," said Adam, leaning across the sideboard to impart this information. Over yonder, Mr. Bellew, sir. Ibbis was bidden for the screen, the tall chap, with the patches. Two patches would be pretty good, but I do wish I had given him a couple more while I was about it, Mr. Bellew, sir. Here the auctioneer's voice put an end to Adam's self-reproaches, and he turned back to the business in hand. The next lot I'm going to dispose of, gentlemen, is a fine set of six chairs with carved antique backs and a postered in papestry. Also, two arm-chairs to match. Wheel them out, Theodore. Now, what is your price for these eight fine pieces? Look them over and bid accordingly. Thirty shillings, again from the depths of the crowd. Ha-ha! You choke, sir," laughed the auctioneer, rubbing his hands in his most jovial manner. Oh, you choke! I can't see you, but you choke, of course, and I laugh accordingly. Ha-ha-ha! Thirty shillings for eight fine antique papestry and carved chairs. Oh, very good! Excellent upon my soul. Three pound, said the fiery-necked corn-chandler. Ginny's, said the red-eyed Parsons. Four pound, nodded the corn-chandler. Four pound ten, roared Adam. Five, got at Grimes, edging away from Adam's elbow. Six pound ten, cried Adam. Seven, from Parsons. Eight, said Grimes. Ten, roared Adam, growing desperate. Eleven, said Grimes, beginning to mop at his neck again. Adam hesitated. Eleven pounds seemed so very much for those chairs that he had seen prudence and the rosy-cheeked maids dust regularly every morning, and then it was not his money after all. Therefore Adam hesitated and glanced wistfully towards a certain distant corner. At eleven, at eleven pounds, this fine suite of hand-carved antique chairs, at eleven pounds, at eleven, at eleven, going, going, fifteen. Said a voice from the distant corner, whereupon Adam drew a great sigh of relief, while the corn-chandler contorted himself in his efforts to glare at Bellew round the sideboard. Fifteen pounds, chanted the auctioneer. I have fifteen, I am given fifteen. Any advance? These eight antique chairs, going at fifteen, going, for the last time, going, gone, sold to the gentlemen in the corner behind the sideboard theodora. They were certainly fine chairs, Mr. Grimes, said Parsons, shaking his head. So so, said the chandler, sitting down heavily, so so Parsons. And he turned to glare at Bellew, who, lying back in an easy chair with his legs upon another, puffed at his pipe, and regarded all things with a placid interest. It is not intended to record in these pages all the bids that were made as the afternoon advanced, for that would be fatiguing to write, and a weariness to read. Suffice it that lots were put up, and regularly knocked down but always to Bellew or Adam. Which last, encouraged by Bellew's bold advances, gaily roared down, and constantly outbid all competitors with such unhesitating pertenacity that murmurs rose and swelled into open complaint. In the midst of which, the fiery visaged corn chandler, purple now between heat and vexation, loudly demanded that he lay down some substantial deposit upon what he had already purchased, failing which he should there and then be took and shook and throwed out into the yard. Neck and crop, added Mr. Parsons. That seems to be a fair proposition, smiled the auctioneer, who had already experienced some doubts as to Adam's financial capabilities, yet with his joviality all unruffled. That seems to be of every fair proposal indeed, if the gentleman will put down some substantial deposit now. I for sure, knotted Adam, stepping forward, and unbuttoning a capacious pocket, he drew out a handful of banknotes. Shall I give you a hundred pounds, or will fifty be enough? Why, said the auctioneer, rubbing his hands as he eyed the fistful of banknotes, ten pound will be all that is necessary, sir, just to ensure good faith you understand. Hereupon Bellew beckoning to Adam, handed him a like amount which was duly deposited with the auctioneer. So, once more, the bidding began. Once more, lots were put up and knocked down, now to Adam and now to Bellew. The bed with the carved headboard had fallen to Adam after a lively contest between him and Parsons and the corn-chandler, which had left the ladder in a state of perspiring profanity, from which he was by no means recovered when the auctioneer once more rapped for silence. And now, gentlemen, last but by no means least, we come to the gem of the sail, a sideboard, gentlemen, a magnificent mahogany sideboard, being a superb example of the carver's art. Here is a sideboard, gentlemen, which, if it can be equaled, cannot be excelled. No, gentlemen, not if you were to search all the baronial halls and lordly mansions in this land of mansions and baronials. It is a truly magnificent piece, in perfect condition, and to be sold at your own price. I say no more. Gentlemen, how much for this magnificent mahogany piece? Ten pound, eleven, fifteen, seventeen, said Adam, who was rapidly drawing near the end of his resources. Eighteen, this from Job Jagway. Go easy there, Job, hissed at him, edging a little nearer to him. Go easy now, nineteen, twenty, said Job. Twenty-one, roared Adam, making his last bid, and then, turning, he hissed in Job's unwilling ear. Go any higher, and I'll pound you into a jelly, Job. Twenty-five, said Parsons. Twenty-seven, forty-eight, thirty, knotted Grimes scouting at Adam. Thirty-two, cried Parsons. Thirty-six, thirty-seven, forty, knotted Grimes. That draps me, said Parsons, sighing and shaking his head. Ah! chuckled the corn-chandler. Well, I've waited years for that sideboard, Parsons. I ain't going to let you take it away from me, nor nobody else, sir. At forty, cried the auctioneer. At forty, this magnet won, knotted Bellow, beginning to fill his pipe. Forty-ones, the bid. I have forty-one from the gent in the corner. Forty-five, growled the corn-chandler. Six, said Bellow. Fifty, snirled Grimes. One, said Bellow. Gent in the corner gives me fifty-one, chanted the auctioneer. Any advance? At fifty-one, fifty-five, said Grimes, beginning to mop at his neck harder than ever. Add ten, knotted Bellow. Watch that! cried Grimes, weeding about. Gent in the corner offers me sixty-five, at sixty-five, this magnificent piece at sixty-five. What are you all done? At sixty-five, at cheap at the price. Come, gentlemen, take your time, give it another look over, and bid accordingly. The crowd had dwindled rapidly during the last hour, which was scarcely to be wondered at, seeing that they were constantly outbid, either by a horse-voiced, square-shouldered fellow in a neck cloth, or a dreamy individual who lulled in the corner and puffed at a pipe. But now, as Grimes, his red cheeks puffed out, his little eyes snapping in a way that many knew met danger, with a large D, as the rich corn-chandler, whose word was law to a good many, turned and confronted this lounging, long-legged individual, such as remained closed round them in a ring, in keen expectation of what was to follow. Observing which, the corn-chandler, feeling it incumbent upon him now or never to vindicate himself as a man of property and substance, and not to be put down, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, spread his legs wide apart, and stared at Bello in a way that most people had found highly disconcerting before now. Bello, however, seemed wholly unaffected, and went on imperturbably filling his pipe. At sixty-five, cried the auctioneer, leaning towards Grimes with his hammer poised, At sixty-five, will you make it another pound, sir? Come, what do you say? I say no, sir. Returned the corn-chandler slowly and impressively. I say no, sir. I say make it another twenty pound, sir. Hereupon heads were shaken or nodded, and there rose the sudden shuffle of feet as the crowd closed in nearer. I get eighty-five. Any advance on eighty-five? Eighty-six, said Bello, setting the tobacco in his pipe-bow with his thumb. Once again the auctioneer leaned over and appealed to the corn-chandler, who stood in the same attitude, jingling the money in his pocket. Come, sir, don't let a pound or two stand between you and a side-board that can't be matched in the length and breadth of the United Kingdom. Come, what do you say to another ten shillings? I say, sir, said Grimes with his gaze still riveted upon Bello. I say no, sir. I say make it another twenty pound, sir. Again there rose the shuffle of feet. Again heads were nodded, and elbows nudged, neighboring ribs, and all eyes were focused upon Bello, who was in the act of lighting his pipe. One hundred and six pounds, cried the auctioneer, at one-six, at one-six. Bello struck a match, but the wind from the open casement behind him extinguished it. I have one hundred and six pounds. Is there any advance? Yes or no? Going at one hundred and six. Adam, who up till now had enjoyed the struggle to the utmost, experienced a sudden qualm of fear. Bello struck another match. At one hundred and six pounds, at one-six, going at one hundred and six pounds. A cold moisture started out on Adam's brow. He clenched his hands and muttered between his teeth. Supposing the money were all gone, like his own share, supposing they had to lose this famous old sideboard, and to grimes of all people. This and much more was in Adam's mind, while the auctioneer held his hammer poised, and Bello went on lighting his pipe. Going at one hundred and six. Going, going, fifty up, said Bello. His pipe was well alight at last, and he was nodding to the auctioneer through a fragrant cloud. What! cried Grimes. How much? Gent in the corner gives me one hundred and fifty-six pounds, said the auctioneer, with a jovial eye upon the cornchandler's lowering visage. One-five-six. All done? Any advance? Going at one-five-six. Going, going, gone. The hammer fell, and with its tap a sudden silence came upon the old hall. Then, all at once the cornchandler turned, caught up his hat, clapped it on, shook a fat-fisted Bello, and, crossing to the door, lumbered away, muttering maledictions as he went. By twos and threes the others followed him, until there remained only Adam, Bello, the auctioneer, and the red-nosed Theodore. And yet there was one other, for, chanceing to raise his eyes to the minstrel's gallery, Bello aspired Miss Priscilla, who, meeting his smiling glance, leaned down suddenly over the carved rail, and very deliberately threw him a kiss, and then hurried away with a quick light tap-tap of her stick. CHAPTER XIII How Anthea came home Lord! said Adam, pausing with a chair under either arm. Lord, Mr. Bello, sir, I wonder what Miss Anthea will say. With which remark he strode off with the two chairs to set them in their accustomed places. seldom indeed had the old hall, despite its many years, seen such a running to and fro, heard such a patter of flying feet, such merry voices, such gay and heartfelt laughter. For here was Miss Priscilla, looking smaller than ever, in a great arm chair, whence she directed the disposal and arrangement of all things, with quick little motions of her crutch-stick. And here were the two rosy cheek-maids, brighter and rosier than ever, and here was Cumley Prudence, hither come from her kitchen, to bear a hand, and here, as has been said, was Adam, and here also was Bello, his pipe laid aside with his coat, pushing and tugging in his efforts to get the great side-board back into its customary position. And all, as has also been said, was laughter and bustle, and an eager haste to have all things as they were, and should be henceforth, before Anthea's return. Lord! exclaimed Adam again, balanced now upon a ladder and pausing to wipe his brow with one hand, and with a picture swinging in the other. Lord! whatever will Miss Anthea say, Mr. Bello, sir? Ah! not at Bello thoughtfully. I wonder. What do you suppose she'll say, Miss Priscilla, ma'am? I think you'd better be careful of that picture, Adam. Which means, said Bello, smiling down unto Miss Priscilla's young bright eyes, that you don't know. Well, Mr. Bello, she'll be very glad, of course, happier, I think, than you or I can guess, because I know she loves every stick and stave of that old furniture, but… But! not at Bello. Yes, I understand. Mr. Bello, if Anthea, oh God bless her dear heart, but if she has a fault, it is pride, Mr. Bello, pride, pride, pride, with a capital P. Yes, she is very proud. She'll be that happy-hearted, said Adam, pausing nearby with a great armful of miscellaneous articles, and that full of joyous never was, Mr. Bello, sir. Having delivered himself of which, he departed with his load. I rose this morning very early, Mr. Bello. Oh, very early, said Miss Priscilla, following Adam's laden figure with watchful eyes. Couldn't possibly sleep, you see. So I got up. Ridiculously early, but bless you, she was before me. Ah! Oh dear, yes, had been up hours. And what? What do you suppose she was doing? Bello shook his head. She was rubbing and polishing that old sideboard that you paid such a dreadful price for, down on her knees before it. Yes, she was, and polishing and rubbing and crying all the while. Oh dear heart, such great big tears, and so very quiet. When she heard my little stick come tapping along, she tried to hide them. I mean her tears, of course, Mr. Bello. And when I drew her dear, beautiful head down to my arms, she tried to smile. I'm so very silly at Priscilla, she said, crying more than ever, but it is so hard to let the old things be taken away. You see, I do love them so. I tell you all this, Mr. Bello, because I like you. Ever since you took the trouble to pick up a ball of worsted, for a poor old lame woman, in an orchard, first impressions, you know, and secondly, I tell you all this to explain to you why I... Through a kiss from a minstrel's gallery to a most unworthy individual and Priscilla? Through you a kiss, Mr. Bello? I had to, the sideboard, you know, on her knees, you understand? I understand. You see, Mr. Bello, sir, said Adam at this juncture, speaking from beneath an inlaid table, which he held balanced upon his head. It ain't as if this was just ordinary furniture, sir. You see, she kinder feels as if it be all part of Dappelmere manner, as it used to be called. It's all been here so long, that them chairs and tables has come to be part of the house, sir. So when she comes, and finds as it ain't all been took, or as you might say, vanished away, why, the question is, I ask you is, what will she say? O Lord! And here, Adam gave vent to his great laugh, which necessitated an almost superhuman exertion of strength to keep the table from slipping from his precarious perch, whereupon Ms. Priscilla screamed, a very small scream like herself, and prudent scolded, and the two rosy cheek-maids tittered, and Adam went chuckling upon his way. And when the hall was, once more, its old, familiar, comfortable self, when the floor had been swept of its litter, and every trace of the sale removed, then Ms. Priscilla sighed, and Bello put on his coat. When do you expect she will come home? he inquired, glancing at the grandfather clock in the corner. Well, if she drove straight back from Cranbrook, she would be here now, but I fancy she won't be so very anxious to get home today, and may come the longest way round. Yes, it's in my mind she will keep away from Dappelmere as long as ever she can. And I think, said Bello, yes. I think I'll take a walk. I'll go and call upon the sergeant. The sergeant, said Ms. Priscilla, let me see. It is now a quarter to six. It should take you about fifteen minutes to the village. That will make it exactly six o'clock. You will find the sergeant just sitting down in the chair on the left-hand side of the fireplace, in the corner at the king's head, you know. Not that I have ever seen him there, good gracious, no. But I happen to be acquainted with his habits, and he is as regular and precise as his great big silver watch, and that is the most precise and regular thing in all the world. I am glad you are going, she went on, because today is, well, a day apart, Mr. Bello. You will find the sergeant at the king's head, until half past seven. Then I will go to the king's head, said Bello. And what message do you send him? None, said Ms. Priscilla, laughing and shaking her head. At least you can tell him, if you wish, that the peaches are riper than ever they were this evening. I won't forget, said Bello, smiling, and went out into the sunshine. But, crossing the yard, he was met by Adam, who, chuckling still, paused to touch his hat. To look at that veer all, sir, you wouldn't never know, is there ever been any sale at all, not no-ow. Now the only question is, were it's me, and as I am an accent of my sale constant is, what will Miss Anthea have to say about it? Yes, said Bello. I wonder. And so he turned and went slowly across the fields. Ms. Priscilla had been right. Anthea was coming back the longest way round. Also, she was anxious to keep away from Dappelmere as long as possible. Therefore, despite small porgyuses' exhortations, and Bessa's chomping impatience, she held the mare in, permitting her only the slowest of paces, which was a most unusual thing for Anthea to do. For the most part, too, she drove in silence, seemingly deaf to small porgyuses' flow of talk, which was also very unlike in her. But before her eyes were visions of her dismantled home, in her ears was the roar of voices clamouring for her cherished possessions, a sickening roar broken now and then by the hollow tap of the auctioneer's cruel hammer. And each time the clamouring voices rose, she shivered, and every blow of the cruel hammer seemed to fall upon her quivering heart. Thus she was unwontedly deaf and unresponsive to small porgyuses, who presently fell into a profound gloom in consequence, and thus she held in the eager mare who therefore shied and fidgeted and tossed her head indignantly. But slowly as they went, they came within sight of the house at last, with its quaint gables and many lattice windows, and the blue smoke curling up from its twisted chimneys, smiling and placid as though in all this great world there were no such thing to be found as an auctioneer's hammer. And presently they swung into the drive and drew up in the courtyard, and there was Adam waiting to take the mare's head, Adam as good-natured and stolid as though there were no abominations called for want of a worse name, sales. Very slowly, for her, Anfeya climbed down from the high dog-cart, aiding small porgyus to earth, and with his hand clasked tight in hers, and with lips set firm, she turned and entered the hall. But upon the threshold she stopped, and stood there utterly still, gazing and gazing upon the trim orderliness of everything. Then, seeing every well-remembered thing in its appointed place, all became suddenly blurred and dim, and snatching her hand from small porgyus's clasp, she uttered a great choking sob, and covered her face. But small porgyus had seen, and stood aghast, and Miss Priscilla had seen, and now hurried forward with a quick tap-tap of her stick. As she came, Anfeya raised her head, and looked for one who should have been there but was not. And in that moment, instinctively she knew how things came to be as they were. And because of this knowledge, her cheeks flamed with a swift burning color, and with a soft cry, she hid her face in Miss Priscilla's gentle bosom. Then, while her face was yet hidden there, she whispered, Tell me, tell me all about it. But meanwhile, Bellew, striding far away across the meadows, seeming to watch the glory of the sunset, and to hearken to a blackbird piping from the dim seclusion of the cops, a melodious goodbye to the dying day, yet saw, and heard it not at all, for his mind was still occupied with Adam's question. What would Miss Anfeya say? A typical Kentish village is Devilmere, with its rows of scattered cottages bowered in roses and honeysuckle, white-walled cottages with steep-pitched roofs, and small, lattice windows that seem to stare at all in sundry like so many weaking eyes. There is an air redolent of ripening fruit and hops, for Devilmere is a place of orchards, and hop gardens, and rickyards, while here and there the sharp-pointed red-tiled roof of some host house pierces the green. Though Devilmere village is but a very small place, indeed, nowadays, yet it possesses a church, gray and ancient, whose massive Norman tower looks down upon the gable and chimney, upon roof of thatch and roof of tile, like some benignant giant keeping watch above them all. Nearby, of course, is the Inn, a great, rambling, comfortable place, with time-worn settles beside the door, and with a mighty sign as swinging before it, upon which, plainly to be seen, when the sun catches it fairly, is that which purports to be a likeness of his Majesty King William IV of glorious memory. But alas! the colours have long since faded, so that now, upon a dull day, it is a moot question whether his Majesty's nose was of the Greek or Roman order, or indeed whether he was blessed with any nose at all. Thus time and circumstances have united to make a ghost of the likeness, as they have done of the original long since, which, fading yet more and more, will doubtless eventually vanish altogether, like King William himself, and leave but a vague memory behind. Now, before the Inn was a small crowd gathered about a trap in which sat two men, one of whom Bellew recognised as the red-necked corn-chandler grimes, and the other the rat-eyed Parsons. The corn-chandler was mopping violently at his face and neck, down which ran, and to which clung, a foamy substance suspiciously like the froth of beer, and, as he moped, his loud brassy voice shook and quavered with passion. "'I tell ye, ye shall get out of my cottage,' he was saying. "'I say ye shall quit my cottage at the end of the month, and when I say a thing I mean it. "'I say ye shall get off of my property, you and that beggarly cobbler. "'I say ye shall be thrown out of my cottage, lock, stock, and barrel. "'I say I wouldn't, Mr. Grimes, least ways not if I was you.' Another voice broke in, calm and deliberate. "'No, I wouldn't go, for to say another word, sir. "'Because if you do say another word, I know a man as will drag you down, and out of that cart, sir. "'I know a man as will break your whip over your very own back, sir. "'I know a man as will then take adieu into the horse-pond, sir. "'That man is me, Sergeant Applebee, late of the 19th Hussars, sir.' The corn-chandler, having removed most of the froth from his head and face, stared down at the straight, alert figure of the big sergeant, hesitated, glanced at the sergeant's fist which, though solitary, was large and powerful, scowled at the sergeant from his polished boots to the crown of his well-brushed hat, which perched upon his close-cropped gray hair at a ridiculous angle totally impossible to any but an ex-calvary man, muttered a furious oath and, snatching his whip, cut viciously at his horse, very much as if that animal had been the sergeant himself, and, as the trap lurched forward, he shook his fist and knotted his head. "'Oat you go! At the end of the month, mind that!' he snarled, and so rattled away down the road, still mopping at his head and neck, until he had fairly mopped himself out of sight. "'Well, Sergeant,' said Bellow, extending his hand, "'how are you?' "'Hotty, sir! Hotty, I thank you, though, at this precise moment, just a little put out, sir. Nonetheless, I know a man as is happy to see you, Mr. Bellow, sir. And that's me, Sergeant Appleby, at your service, sir. My cottage lies down the road, yonder, an easy march, if you will step that far. Speaking for my comrade and myself, we shall be proud for you to take tea with us. "'Muffins, sir, shrimps, Mr. Bellow, also a pikelet or two. Not a great feast, but tolerable good rations, sir, and plenty of them. What do you say?' "'I say, done, and thank you very much.' So, without further parley, the sergeant's saluted divers of the little crowd, and wheeling sharply, strode along beside Bellow, rather more stiff in the back, and fixed by, than was his want, and jingling his imaginary spurs rather more loudly than usual. You will be wondering at the tantrums of the man Grimes, sir, of his ordering me and my comrade Peter Day out of his cottage, sir. I tell you, in two words, it's all owing to the sale, up at the farm, sir. You'll see, Grimes is a great hand at buying things uncommonly cheap, and selling them uncommonly dear. But today, it seems, he was disappointed. "'Ah,' said Bellow, at exactly twenty-three minutes to six, sir,' said the sergeant, consulting his large silver watch, I were sitting at my usual corner beside the chimney, sir. When in comes Grimes, like a thunder-cloud, calls for a pint of ale in a tankard. Tom draws pint, which Tom is the lad, lord, sir. "'By anything at the sale, Mr. Grimes,' says Tom. "'Sale,' says Grimes, "'sale, indeed.' And falls a cursing, folk up at the farm, shocking, outrageous, ends by threatening to foreclose mortgage within the month, upon which I raise a protest, upon which he grows abusive, upon which I was forced to pour his ale over him, over which I ran him out into the road. And there it is, you see. And he threatened to foreclose the mortgage on Dappelmill Farm, did he, sergeant? Within the month, sir, upon which I warned him, in parlour no place, ladies' private money, troubles, keeping crowd. Damn it. And so he is turning you out of his cottage? Within the week, sir. But then, beer down the neck, he is rather unpleasant. And here the sergeant uttered a short laugh, and was immediately grave again. "'It isn't,' he went on. "'It isn't as I mind the inconvenience of moving, sir, though I shall be mighty sorry to leave the old place. Still, it isn't that so much as the small corner covered, and my bookshelf by the chimney. There never was such a cupboard, sir. There never was a cupboard, so, well, calculate it old, a pair of jack-boots, not to mention spurs, hellos, burnishers, shoulder chains, polishing brushes, and a bootjack, as that same small corner covered, as for the bookshelf beside the chimney, sir. Exactly three-foot-three, sunk in a recess. Height, the third button on my coat. Capacity? Fourteen bucks. You couldn't get another book on that shelf? No, not if you're tried with a sledgehammer or a hydraulic engine, which is highly surprising, when you consider that fourteen books is not true, an exact number of books as I possess." Very remarkable, said Bellow. Then again, there's my comrade, Peter Day. The sergeant pronounced it as though it were all one word. Sir, my comrade Peter Day is a very remarkable man. Most cobblers are. When he's not cobbling, he's reading. When not reading, he's cobbling, or mending clocks and watches, and betwixt this and that. My comrade has picked up a power of information. Though he lost his leg at doing of it, in a gale of wind, off the keep of good hope, for my comrade was a sailor, sir. Consequently, he is a handyman. Most sailors are, and makes his own wooden legs, sir. He is also a musician. The tin whistle, sir. And here we are. Saying which, the sergeant halted, wheeled, opened a very small gate, and ushered Bellow into a very small garden bright with flowers, beyond which was a very small cottage indeed, through the open door of which there issued a most appetizing odor, accompanied by a whistle wonderfully clear and sweet, that was rendering Tom bowling, with many shakes, trills, and astonishing runs. Peter Day was busied at the fire with a long toasting fork in his hand, but on their entrance, breaking off his whistling in the very middle of a note, he sprang nimbly to his feet, or rather his foot, and stood revealed as a short yet strongly built man, with a face that, in one way, resembled an island, in that it was completely surrounded by hair and whisker. But it was, in all respects, a vastly pleasant island to behold, despite the somewhat craggy prominences of chin and nose and brow. In other words, it was a pleasing face, notwithstanding the fierce, thick eyebrows which were more than offset by the merry blue eyes, and the broad, humorous mouth below. Peter Day, said the sergeant, Glad to see you, sir, said the mariner, saluting the visitor with a quick bob of the head, and a backward scrape of the wooden leg. You couldn't make port at a better time, sir, and because why? Because the kettles are biling, sir, the muffins is paving hot, and the shrimps is allaying hove, too, waiting to be took aboard, sir. Saying which, Peter Day bobbed his head again, shook his wooden leg again, and turned away to reach another cup and saucer. It was a large room for so small a cottage, and comfortably furnished, with a floor of red tile, and with a grate at one end well raised up from the hearth. Upon the hob, a kettle saying the murmurously, and on a trivet stood a plate whereon rose a tower of toasted muffins. A round table occupied the middle of the floor, and was spread with a snowy cloth, whereon cups and saucers were arranged, while in the midst stood a great bowl of shrimps. Now above the mantle-piece, that is to say, to the left of it, and fastened to the wall, was a length of rope cunningly tied into what is called a running bowline. Above this, on a shelf specially contrived to hold it, was the model of a full-rigged ship that was, to all appearances, making excellent way of it, with every stitch of canvas set and drawing, a low and a loft. Above this again was a sextant and a telescope. Opposite all these, upon the other side of the mantle, were a pair of stirrups, three pairs of spurs, two cavalry sabers, and a carbine, while between these objects, in the very middle of the chimney, uniting, as it were, the army and the navy, was a portrait of Queen Victoria. Bello also noticed that each side of the room partook of the same characteristics, one being devoted to things nautical, the other to objects military. All this Bello noticed while the soldier was brewing the tea, and the sailor was bestowing the last finishing touches to the muffins. It often is what honoured with company, sir, said Peter Day as they sat down, is it, Dick? No, answered the sergeant, handing Bello the strips. We ain't had company to tea, said Peter Day, passing Bello the muffins. No, we ain't had company to tea, since the last time Miss Anthea and Miss Priscilla Oredus held we, Dick. Oredus, said the sergeant, nodding his head approvingly, is the one and only word for it, Peter Day. And the last time was this day twelve months, sir. Because why? Because this day twelve months happened to be Miss Priscilla's birthday. Consequently, today is her birthday, likewise, were for the muffins and were for the shrimps, sir. For they was this day to have once more graced our board, Mr. Bello. Graced our board, said the sergeant, nodding his head again. Graced our board, is the only expression for it, Peter Day. But they disappointed us, Mr. Bello, sir, on account of the sail. Messmate, said Peter Day with a note of concern in his voice. How's the wind? Tolerable, comrade, tolerable. Then why forget the tea? Tea, said the sergeant, with a guilty start. Why, so I am. Mr. Bello, sir, your pardon. And, forthwith, he began to pour out the tea very solemnly, but with less precision of movement than usual, and with abstracted gaze. The sergeant tells me you're a musician, said Bello, as Peter Day handed him another muffin. A musician? Me? Think of that now. To be sure, I do toot on the tin whistle now and then, sir, such things as the British Grenadiers, and the girl I left behind me, for my shipmate, and the Bay of Biscay, and a life on the ocean wave for myself. But a musician? Lord, you see, sir. Said Peter Day, taking advantage of the sergeant's abstraction, and whispering confidentially behind his muffin, this messmate of mine, as such a high opinion of my gifts, as is fair overpowering, and a tin whistle is only a tin whistle, after all. And it is about the only instrument I could ever get the hang of, said Bello. Why, what do you mean as you play, sir? Hardly that, but I make a good bluff at it. Why, then, I've got a couple of very good whistles, if you're so minded we might try a duet, sir, ought a tea. With pleasure, not in Bello. But hereupon Peter Day, noticing that the sergeant ate nothing, leaned over and touched him upon the shoulder. How's the wind now, shipmate? he inquired. Why, so-so, Peter Day, fair-ish, fair-ish, said the sergeant, stirring his tea round and round, and with his gaze fixed upon the opposite wall. Then mess-mate, why not a muffin, or even an occasional shrimp? Where be your appetite? Peter Day, said the sergeant, beginning to stir his tea faster than ever, and with his eyes still fixed. Consequent upon disparaging remarks, having been passed by one Grimes, our landlord, concerning them as should not be mentioned in an inn parlor, or anywhere else, by such as said Grimes, I was compelled to pour a tank of beer over said Grimes, our landlord, this afternoon. Peter Day, at exactly twelve and a half minutes past six, by my watch, which done, I ran our landlord out into the road, Peter Day, say, half a minute later, which would make it precisely thirteen minutes after the hour. Consequent upon which, comrade, we have received our marching orders. What's mess-mate? is it heav' our anchor, you mean? I mean, comrade, that on Saturday next, being the twenty-fifth instant, we march out, bag and baggage, horse, foot, and artillery. We evacuate our position in face of superior force, for good and all, comrade. Is that so, ship-mate? It's rough on you, Peter Day, it's hard on you, I'll admit, but things were said, comrade, relative to business troubles of one as we both respect Peter Day. Things were said as called for beer down the neck, and running out into the road, comrade. But it's rough on you, Peter Day, seeing as you, like the hustlers at Oswan, was never engaged, so to speak. I, I, ship-mate, that does catch me, on a back, ship-mate. My lord, I'd give a pound, two pound, or ten, just to have been a stern of him, with a rope's end. So come to think of it, I'd have preferred a capstan-bar. Peter Day, said the sergeant, removing his gaze from the wall with a jerk, on the twenty-fifth instant we shall be, without a roof to cover us, and, and all my doing, Peter Day, what have you to say about it? Say, mess-mate, why, that you and me, honouring and respecting two ladies as deserves to be honoured and respected, ain't going to let such a small thing as this year cottage come betwitched us, and our honouring and respecting of them two ladies. If, therefore, we are due to quit this anchorage, why, then, it's all hands to the windlass, with a heave, your hoe, and merrily, say I. Mess-mate! My fist! Hereupon, with a very jerky movement indeed, the sergeant reached out his remaining arm, and the soldier and the sailor shook hands very solemnly over the muffins, already vastly diminished in number, with a grip that spoke much. Peter Day, you have lifted a load off my heart. I thank ye, comrade, and spoke like a true soldier. Peter Day, the muffins. So now the sergeant, himself once more, fell to in turn, and they ate, and drank, and laughed, and talked, until the shrimps were all gone, and the muffins were things of the past. And now, declining all Bellew's offers of assistance, the soldier and the sailor began washing and drying, and putting away their crockery, each in his characteristic manner. The sergeant, very careful and exact, while the sailor juggled cups and saucers with the sure-handed deafness that seems peculiar to nautical fingers. Yes, Peter Day, said the sergeant, hanging each cup upon its appointed nail, and setting each saucer solicitously in the space reserved for it on the small dresser. Since you have took our marching orders as you have took them, I am quite reconciled to partying with these here snug quarters, barring only a bookshelf and a cupboard. Cupboard? returned Peter Day with a snort of disdain. Why, then, never was such a ill-contrived, lovely cupboard as that! In all the world you can't get at it unless you lay over to port an account of the clothes-press, and then hard a starboard on account of the dresser, and then it being in the darkest corner. True, Peter Day, but then I'm used to it, and use is everything as you know. I can lay my hand upon anything in a minute. Watch me. Saying which, the sergeant squeezed himself between the press and the dresser, opened the cupboard, and took thence several articles which he named each in order. A pair of chalk boots, two brushes, blacking, and a bunisher. Having set these down one by one upon the dresser, he wheeled and addressed himself to Bellew as follows. Mr. Bellew, sir. This evening being the anniversary of a certain event, sir, I will ask you to excuse me while I make the necessary preparations to honour this anniversary, as is ever my custom. As he ended, he dropped the two brushes, the blacking and the bunisher inside the legs of the boots, picked them up with a sweep of the arm, and, turning short round, strode out into the little garden. A fine fellow is Dick, sir. Not at Peter Day, beginning to fill a long clay pipe. Lord, what a sailor he had made! To be sure. Failing which, he is a fine soldier as ever was, or will be, with enough war-metals to fill my sunny hat, sir. But he lost his arm, they gave him the VC and his discharge, sir. Because why? Because a soldier with one arm ain't any more good than a sailor with one leg, D.S.E. So they tried to discharge Dick, but, Lord, love you, they couldn't, sir. Because why? Because Dick would a soldier bred and born, and is as much a soldier today as ever he was. Ah, and now this will be, until he goes marching aloft, like poor Tom Bowling, until one as is general of all the armies, and admiral of all the fleets as ever sailed shall call the last muster roll, sir. At this present moment, sir, continued the sailor, lighting his pipe with a live coal from the fire, my messmate is a, sitting to the leeward or the plump tree outside, a polishing of his jack-boots, is don't need polishing, and a burnishing of his spurs, is don't need burnishing. And because why? Because he goes on guard tonight, according to custom. On guard, repeated bellow, I am afraid I don't understand. Of course you don't, sir, chuckled Peter Day. Well, then, tonight he marches away in full regimental, sir, to mount guard. And where do you suppose? Why, I tell you, under Miss Priscilla's window, he gets there as the clock is striking eleven, and there he stays, a marching two-and-fro until twelve o'clock, which does him a word of good, sir, and in no ways displeases Miss Priscilla. Because why? Because she don't know nothing whatever about it. Hereupon Peter Day rose, and crossing to a battered seaman's chest in the corner, came back with three or four tin whistles which he handed to Bello, who laid aside his pipe, and having selected one, ran tentatively up and down the scale, while Peter Day listened attentive, avir, and beaming a face. Sir, said he, what do you say to Arnie Laurie as a start? Shall we give him Arnie Laurie? Very good. Ready? Go! Thus George Bello, American citizen and millionaire, piped away on a tin whistle with all the gusto in the world, introducing little trills and flourishes here and there that fairly won the one-legged sailor's heart. They had already given him three or four selections, each of which had been vociferously encored by Peter Day, or Bello, and had just finished an impassioned rendering of Sawani River, when the sergeant appeared with his boots beneath his arm. Shipmate! cried Peter Day, flourishing his whistle. Did you ever hear a tin whistle better played or mellerer in tone? Miller, it's the only word for it, comrade, and your playing, sirs, is artistic, though doleful. Perhaps you wouldn't mind giving us something brighter, a rattling quick-step. Perhaps you might remember one as begins some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules, if it wouldn't be troubling you too much. Forthwith they burst forth into the British Grenadiers, and never did tin whistles render the famous old tune with more fire and dash. As the stirring notes rang out, the sergeant, standing upon the hearth, seemed to grow taller. His broad chest expanded, his eyes glowed, a flush crept into his cheek, and the whole man thrilled to the music as he had done many a time and off in years gone by. As the last notes died away, he glanced down at the empty sleeve pinned across his breast, shook his head, and, thinking them in a very gruff voice indeed, turned on his heel, and busied himself at his little cupboard. Peter Day now rose and set a jug together with three glasses upon the table, also spoons and a lemon, keeping his weather eye, meanwhile, upon the kettle, which last, condescending to boil obligingly, he wrapped three times with his wooden leg. Righto, shipmate! he cried, very much as though he had been hailing the main top, when upon the sergeant emerged from between the clothes-press and the dresser with a black bottle in his hand which he passed over to Peter Day who set out about brewing what he called a joram agorog, the savor of which filled the place with a ripe pleasant fragrance. And when the glasses brimmed, each with a slice of lemon atop the sergeant solemnly rose. Mr. Bellew and comrade, said he, lifting his glass, I give you Miss Priscilla. God bless her, said Peter Day. Amen, added Bellew. So the toast was drunk, the glasses were emptied, refilled, and emptied again. This time more slowly, and the clock striking nine, Bellew rose to take his leave, seeing which the sergeant fetched his hat and stick, and volunteered to accompany him a little way. So when Bellew had shaken the sailor's honest hand, they set out together. Sergeant, said Bellew after the hand walked some distance, I have a message for you. For me, sir. From Miss Priscilla. From… Indeed, sir. She bid me tell you that the pictures are riper tonight than ever they were. The sergeant seemed to find in this a subject for profound thought, and he strode on beside Bellew very silently, and with his eyes straight before him. That the peaches were riper tonight, than ever they were? said he at last. Yes, sergeant. Riper, said the sergeant, as though turning this over in his mind, riper than ever they were, nodded Bellew. The peaches, I think, sir. The peaches, yes. Bellew heard the sergeant's finger rasping to and fro across his shaven chin. Mr. Bellew, sir. She is a very remarkable woman, sir. Yes, sergeant. A wonderful woman. Yes, sergeant. The kind of woman that improves with age, sir. Yes, sergeant. Talking of peaches, sir, I've often thought that she is very like a peach yourself, sir. Very, sergeant, but— Well, sir, peaches do not improve with age, sergeant, and the peaches are riper than ever they were tonight. The sergeant stopped short, and stared at Bellew wide-eyed. Why, sir, said he very slowly, you don't mean to say you think, as she meant, that— But I do, not at Bellew. And now, just as suddenly as he had stopped, the sergeant turned and went on again. Lord, he whispered, Lord, Lord. The moon was rising, and, looking at the sergeant, Bellew saw that there was a wonderful light in his face, yet a light hit to his not at the moon. Sergeant, said Bellew, laying a hand upon his shoulder. Why don't you speak to her? Speak to her? What, me? No, no, Mr. Bellew, said the sergeant hastily. No, no, can't be done, sir, not to be mentioned or thought of, sir. The light was all gone out of his face now, and he walked with his chin on his breast. The surprising thing to me, sergeant, is that you have never thought of putting your fortune to the test, and speaking your mind to her before now. Thought of it, sir? repeated the sergeant bitterly. Thought of it? Lord, sir, I thought of it these five years, and more. I thought of it day and night. I thought of it so very much that I know I never can speak my mind to her. Look at me! he cried suddenly, wheeling and confronting Bellew, but not at all like his bold, erect, soldierly self. Yes, look at me, a poor, battered old soldier, with his best arm gone, left behind him in India, and with nothing in the world but his old uniform, getting very frayed and worn, like himself, sir, a pair of jackboots, likewise, very much worn, though wonderfully patched here and there, by my good comrade Peter Day, a handful of metals, and a very modest pension. Look at me, with the best of my days behind me, and with only one arm left, and have a deal more awkward and helpless with that one arm than you'd think, sir. Look at me, and then tell me how could such a man dare to speak his mind to such a woman? What right has such a man to even think of speaking his mind to such a woman, when there's part of that man already in the grave? Why, no right, sir, none in the world. Poverty and one arm, our facts, is make it impossible for that man to ever speak his mind. And, sir, that man never will, sir. Good night to you. At a pleasant walk I turn back here, which the sergeant did, then and there, wheeling sharp right about face, yet, as Bello watched him go, he noticed that the soldier's step was heavy and slow, and it seemed that, for once, the sergeant had even forgotten to put on his imaginary spurs.