CHAPTER I. To Jennifer, the one and only, whose unswerving faith was an inspiration, whose generosity is a byword. This book is dedicated as a mark of gratitude and affection. Jeffrey Farnall, February 10, 1910. CHAPTER I. Which being the first, is very properly, the shortest chapter in the book. When Sylvia Marchment went to Europe, George Bellew, being at the same time desirous of testing his newest acquired yacht, followed her, and mutual friends in New York, Newport, and elsewhere, confidently awaited news of their engagement. Great, therefore, was their surprise when they learned of her approaching marriage to the Duke of Ride. Bellew, being young and rich, had many friends, very naturally, who, while they sympathized with his loss, yet agreed among themselves that, despite Bellew's millions, Sylvia had done vastly well for herself, seeing that a Duke is always a Duke, especially in America. There were also divers ladies in New York, Newport, and elsewhere, and celebrated for their palatial homes, their jewels, and their daughters, who were anxious to know how Bellew would comport himself under his disappointment. Some leaned to the idea that he would immediately blow his brains out. Others opined that he would promptly set off on another of his exploring expeditions and get himself torn to pieces by lions and tigers, or devoured by alligators. While others, again, feared greatly that, in a fit of peak, he would marry some young person unknown, and therefore, of course, utterly unworthy. How far these worthy ladies were right, or wrong, in their surmises, they who take the trouble to turn the following pages shall find out. CHAPTER 2 How George Bellew sought counsel of his valet The first intimation Bellew received of the futility of his hopes was the following letter which he received one morning as he sat at breakfast in his chambers at St. James Street, W. My dear George, I am writing to tell you that I like you so much that I am quite sure I could never marry you. It would be too ridiculous. Liking you see George is not love, is it? Though personally I think all that sort of thing went out of fashion with our great-grandmother's hoops and crinolines. So, George, I have decided to marry the Duke of Ride. The ceremony will take place in three weeks' time at St. George's Hanover Square, and everyone will be there, of course. If you care to come too, so much the better. I won't say that I hope you will forget me, because I don't.  So, good-bye and best wishes. Ever yours most sincerely, Sylvia. Now under such circumstances had Bellew sought oblivion and consolation from bottles, or gone headlong to the devil in any of other numerous ways that are more or less inviting, deluded people would have pitied him, and shaken grave heads over him, for it seems that disappointment, more especially in love, may condone many offenses, and cover as many sins as charity. But Bellew, knowing nothing of that latter-day hysteria which wears the disguise and calls itself temperament, and being only a rather ordinary young man, did nothing of the kind. Having lighted his pipe, and read the letter through again, he rang instead for Baxter his valet. Baxter was small and slight and dapper as to person, clean shaven, alert of eye, and soft of movement. In a word Baxter was the cream of gentleman's gentleman, and the very acne of what a valet should be, from the very precise parting of his glossy hair to the trim-toes of his glossy boots. Baxter, as has been said, was his valet, and had been his father's valet before him, and as to age might have been thirty or forty or fifty, as he stood there beside the table with one eyebrow raised, a trifle higher than the other, waiting for Bellew to speak. Baxter, sir, take a seat. Thank you, sir, and Baxter sat down, not too near his master, nor too far off, but exactly at the right and proper distance. Baxter, I wish to consult with you. As between master and servant, sir, as between man and man, Baxter. Very good, Mr. George, sir. I should like to hear your opinion, Baxter, as to what is the proper and most accredited course to adopt when one has been earned. Crossed in love. Why, sir, said Baxter, slightly wrinkling his smooth brow, so far as I can call to mind that the courses usually adopted by dispelling lovers are in number four. Name them Baxter. First, Mr. George, there is what I may term the course retaliatory, which is marriage. Marriage? With another party, sir, on the principle that there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out, and pebbles on beaches, sir. You understand me, sir? Perfectly. Go on. Secondly, there is the army, sir. I have known of a good many enlistments on account of blighted affections, Mr. George. He indeed, the army, is very popular. Ah! said Belly, settling the tobacco in his pipe with the aid of the salt spoon. Proceed, Baxter. Thirdly, Mr. George, there are those who are content to—to merely disappear. Hmm! said Belly. And lastly, sir, though it is usually the first, there is dissipation, Mr. George. Drink, sir, the consolation of bottles, and—exactly! Noted Belly. Now, Baxter, he pursued, beginning to draw diagrams on the tablecloth with the salt spoon, knowing me as you do, what course would you advise me to adopt? You mean, Mr. George, speaking as between man and man, of course. You mean that you are in the unfortunate position of being crossed in your affections, sir? Also broken-hearted, Baxter? Certainly, sir. Miss Marchment marries the Duke of Rye in three weeks, Baxter. Indeed, sir. You were, I believe, aware of the fact that Miss Marchment and I were as good as engaged. I had gathered as much, sir. Then confound it all, Baxter. Why aren't you surprised? I am quite overcome, sir, said Baxter, stooping to recover the salt spoon which had slipped to the floor. Consequently, pursued Bellow, I am broken-hearted, as I told you. Certainly, sir. Crushed, despondent, and utterly hopeless, Baxter, and shall be henceforth pursued by the haunting specter of the might have been. Very natural, sir, indeed. I could have hoped, Baxter, that having served me so long, not to mention my father, you would have shown just a shade more feeling in the matter. And if you were to ask me, as between man and man, sir, why I don't show more feeling then, speaking as the old servant of your respected father, or master George, sir, I should beg most respectfully to say that regarding the lady in question, her conduct is not in the least surprising, Miss Marchment being a beauty and aware of the fact, master George, referring to your heart, sir, I am ready to swear that it is not even cracked. And now, sir, what clothes do you propose to wear this morning? And pray, why should you be so confident of regarding the condition of my heart? Because, sir, speaking as your father's old servant, master George, I make bold to say that I don't believe that you have ever been in love, or even known what love is, master George, sir. Bellew picked up the salt spoon, balanced it very carefully upon his finger, and put it down again. Nevertheless, said he, shaking his head, I can see for myself but the dreary perspective of a hopeless future, Baxter, blasted by the haunting specter of the might of then. I have trouble you to push the cigarettes a little nearer. And now, sir, said Baxter as he rose to strike and apply the necessary match. What suit will you wear today? Three-inch tweeds. Tweeds, sir, surely you forget your appointment with the lady Cecily Pridden and her party? Lord Montclair had me on the telephone last night. Also a good heavy walking-stick, Baxter, and a knapsack. A knapsack, sir? I shall set out on a walking tour in an hour's time. Certainly, sir. Where to, sir? I haven't the least idea, Baxter, but I'm going in an hour. On the whole of the four courses you describe for one whose life is blighted, whose heart I say whose heart, Baxter, is broken, utterly smashed, and shivered beyond repair, I prefer to disappear in an hour, Baxter. Shall you drive the touring car, sir, or the new racer? I shall walk, Baxter, alone. CHAPTER III Which concerns itself with a hay-cart and a belligerent waggoner. It was upon a certain August morning that George Bellow shook the dust of London from his feet, and, leaving chants or destiny to direct him, followed a haphazard course, careless alike of how or when or where, sighing as often and as heavily as he considered his heart-broken condition required, which was very often and very heavily, yet heeding for all that the glory of the sun and the stir and bustle of the streets about him. Thus it was that, being careless of his ultimate destination, Fortune condescended to take him under her wing, if she has one, and guided his steps across the river into the lovely land of Kent, that county of gentle hills and broad pleasant valleys of winding streams and shady woods, of rich meadows and smiling pastures, of grassy lanes and fragrant hedgerows. That most delightful land which has been called and very rightly the Garden of England. It was thus, as has been said, upon a fair August morning, that Bellow set out on what he termed a walking tour. The reservation is necessary because Bellow's idea of a walking tour is original and quaint. He began very well for Bellow. In the morning he walked very nearly five miles, and in the afternoon, before he was discovered, he accomplished ten more, on a hay cart that happened to be going in his direction. He had swung himself up among the hay, unobserved by the somnolent driver, and had ridden thus an hour or more that delicious state between waking and sleeping ere the wagoner discovered him, whereupon ensued the following colloquy. The wagoner, indignantly, �Hello there! What might you be a-doing in my hay?� Bellow drowsily, �Enjoying myself immensely� The wagoner growling, �Well, you get out of that and sharp about it!� Bellow yawning, �Not on your life! No, sir!� Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. The wagoner,�You just get down out of my hay!�Now come!� Bellow, sleepily, �Enough, good fellow!�Go to!�My voice offends my ear. The wagoner, threateningly, �Ear, be blowed!�If you don't get down out of my hay, I'll come and throw you out!� Bellow drowsily, �It would be an act of want and aggression that likes me not� The wagoner, dubiously, �Where be you going?� Bellow, wherever you like to take me, thy way shall be my way, and thy people� �Ugh!�So drive on my rustic G.H.U. and Heaven's blessings prosper thee.� Saying which, Bellow closed his eyes again,�Side plaintively,�And once more composed himself to slumber.�But to drive on,�The wagoner very evidently had no mind.�Instead, fleeing the reins upon the backs of his horses,�He climbed down from his seat,�And spitting on his hands,�Clenched them into fists,�And shook them up at the yawning Bellow one after the other.� �It be enough�, said he,�Terraise the old Adam incited me to have a trapper of the roads a snored in my hay,�But I ain't going to be called names into the bargain.�Rusty, I may be,�But I reckon I'm good enough for the likes of you,�So come on down� The wagoner shook his fists again.�He was a very square man, was this wagoner,�Square of head,�Square of jaw,�And square of body,�With twinkling blue eyes and a pleasant good-natured face.�But just now the eyes gleamed,�And the face was set grimly,�And altogether he looked a very ugly opponent.�Therefore Bellow,�Side again,�Stretched himself,�And very reluctantly,�Climbed down out of the hay.�No sooner was he fairly in the road than the wagoner went for him with a rush and a quirl of knotted fists.�It was very dusty in that particular spot so that it presently rose in a cloud in the midst of which the battle raged fast and furious,�And in a while the wagoner, rising out of the ditch, grinned to see Bellow wiping blood from his face.�You be no fool,�Pented the wagoner, mopping his face with the end of his neckerchief.�Least wait.�Not with your fists.�Why, you are pretty good yourself if it comes to that,�Returned Bellow, mopping in his turn.�Thus they stood a while staunching their wounds and gazing upon each other with a mutual and growing respect.�Well,�Inquired Bellow when he had recovered his breath somewhat,�Shall we begin again or do you think we have had enough?�To be sure, I begin to feel much better for your efforts. You see, exercise is what I most need just now on account of the,�Haunting specter of the might have been,�To offset its effect, you know,�But it is uncomfortably warm work here in the sun, isn�t it?�Ah!�Not with the wagoner.�It be.�Then suppose we continue on our journey,� Said Bellow with his dreamy gaze upon the tempting load of sweet smelling hay.�Ah!�Not at the wagoner again,�Beginning to roll down his sleeves.�Suppose we do.�I aren�t above giving a lift to a chap as can use his fists.�Not even if he is a vagrant,�And an uncommon dust he wanted that.�So if you are in the same mind about it up you get,�But no more fur and curses mind.�With which admonition the wagoner knotted,�Grinned,�And climbed back to his seat,�While Bellow swung himself up into the hay once more.�Friend,� said he as the wagon creaked upon its way,�Do you smoke?�Ah!�Not at the wagoner.�Then here are three cigars which you didn�t manage to smash just now.�Cigars!�Why it ain�t often as I get so far as a cigar,�Unless it be squire or passon.�Cigarze!�Saying which the wagoner turned and accepted the cigars which he proceeded to stow away in the cavernous interior of his wide-eaved hat,�Handling them with elaborate care rather as if they were explosives of a highly dangerous kind.�Meanwhile George Bellow, American citizen and millionaire,�Lay upon the broad of his back,�Staring up at the cloudless blue above,�And despite heartbreak and a certain haunting shadow,�Felt singularly content,�Which feeling he was at some pains with himself to account for.�It is the exercise,�said he,�Speaking his thought aloud as he stretched luxuriously upon his soft and fragrant couch.�After all, there is nothing like a little exercise.�That�s what they all say,�Not at the wagoner,�But I notice as them as says it,�Aint overfond of doing of it.�They mostly prefers to lie on their backs and talk about it,�Like yourself.�Hum,�said Bellow.�Ha! Some are born to exercise,�Some achieve exercise,�And some,�Like myself,�Have exercise thrust upon them.�But anyway, it is a very excellent thing,�More especially if one is affected with their broken heart. �A what?�Inquired the wagoner. �Belighted affections, then,�Said Bellow,�Settling himself more comfortably in the hay. �You aren�t itten at love,�Areya.�Inquired the wagoner, cocking a somewhat sheepish eye at him. �I was, but just at present,�And here Bellow lowered his voice. �It is a rather painful subject with me.�Let us therefore talk of something else. �You don�t mean to say as your art broke, do ye?�Inquired the wagoner in a tone of such vast surprise and disbelief that Bellow turned and propped himself on an indignant elbow. �And why the deuce not?�He retorted, �My heart is no more impervious than any one else�Is, confounded. �But,�said the wagoner, �You ain�t got the look of an art broke-cove?�No more than Squire Castleus, which the same I had heard telling Miss Anthea as his art were broke, no later than yesterday, at two o�clock in the afternoon, as ever was. �Anthea,�Repeated Bellow,�Blinking drowsily up at the sky again. �That is a very quaint name, and very pretty.�Pretty! �Ah,�And,�Sows Miss Anthea,�As a pictor. �Oh, really!�Yawned Bellow. �Ah!�Not at the wagoner. �There ain�t a man in or out of the parish from Squire Downish don�t think the very same. But here the wagoner�s voice tailed off into a meaningless drone that became merged with the creaking of the wheels, the plotting hoof-strokes of the horses, and Bellow fell asleep. He was awakened by feeling himself shaken lustily, and, sitting up, saw that they had come to where a narrow lane branched off from the high road, and wound away between great trees. �Yawns,�You�re away,�Not at the wagoner, pointing along the high road. �Dappelmeer Village�Lies over Yonder,�Bottomayo. �Thank you very much,�said Bellow, �But I don�t want the village.� �No�,�inquired the wagoner, scratching his head. �Certainly not,�Answered Bellow, �Then what do you want?� �Oh, well, I�ll just go on lying here and see what turns up. So drive on like the good fellow you are. �Can�t be done,�said the wagoner. �Why not?� �Why,�Since you ask me,�Because I don�t have to drive no farther. �Thou�d be the farmhouse over the upland yonder. You can�t see it because of the trees,�But there it be. So Bellow sighed resignedly, and Perforce climbed down into the road. �What do I owe you?�He inquired. �O me,�said the wagoner, staring. �For the ride and the year. Very necessary exercise you afforded me. �Lord!�Cried the wagoner with a sudden great laugh. �You don�t owe me nothing for that? Let know how. I owe you one for a knockin' of me into that ditch back yonder, though, to be sure, I did give you one or two goodens, didn�t I? �You certainly did,�Answered Bellow, smiling, and he held out his hand. �Hey, what�t be this?�Tried the wagoner, staring down at the bright five-shilling piece in his palm. �Well, I rather think it�s five shillings,�said Bellow. �It�s big enough,�Heaven knows. �English money is all OK, I suppose, but it�s confoundedly confusing, and rather heavy to drag around if you happen to have enough of it. �Ah!�knotted the wagoner. But then nobody never has enough of it, at least always I never know what nobody has had. �Good-bye, sir, and thank ye!�And�Good luck!�Saying which the wagoner chirrupt to his horses, slipped the coin into his pocket, nodded, and the wagon creaked and rumbled up the lane. Bellow strolled along the road, breathing an air fragrant with honeysuckle from the hedges, and full of the song of birds, pausing, now and then, to listen to the blithe carol of a skylark, or the rich sweet notes of a black bird, and feeling that it was indeed good to be alive. So that, what with all this, the springy turf beneath his feet and the blue expanse overhead, he began to whistle for very joy of it, until, remembering the haunting shadow of the might of Ben, he chucked himself, and sighed instead. Presently, turning from the road he climbed a style, and followed a narrow path that led away across the meadows, and, as he went, there met him a gentle wind, laden with the sweet warm scent of ripening hops and fruit. On he went, and on, heedless of his direction, until the sun grew low, and he grew hungry. Wherefore, looking about, he presently aspired a nook sheltered from the sun's level rays by a steep bank where flowers bloomed and ferns grew. Here he sat down, unslinging his knapsack, and here it was also, that he first encountered small porges. CHAPTER IV How small porges, in looking for a fortune for another, found an uncle for himself instead. The meeting of George Bellow and small porges, as he afterward came to be called, was sudden, precipitant, and wholly unexpected, and it befell on this wise. Bellow had opened his knapsack, had fished thence cheese, clasp knife, and a crusty loaf of bread, and, having exerted himself so far, had fallen a thinking or a dreaming in his characteristic attitude, i.e., on the flat of his back, when he was aware of a crash in the hedge above, and then of something that hurtled past him, all arms and legs, that rolled over two or three times, and eventually brought up in a sitting posture.  He was a very diminutive boy with a round head, covered with coppery curls, the boy who stared at Bellow out of a pair of very round blue eyes, while he tenderly cherished a knee and an elbow. He had been on the brink of tears for a moment, but meeting Bellow's quizzical gaze, he manfully repressed the weakness, and, lifting the small and somewhat weather-beaten cap that found a precarious perch at the back of his curly head, he gravely wished Bellow, good afternoon. Well, met my lord Chesterfield! Noted Bellow returning the salute. Are you hurt? Just a bit on the elbow, but my name's George. Why, so is mine, said Bellow, though they call me Georgie Porgy. Of course they do. Noted Bellow. They used to call me the same, once upon a time. Georgie Porgy, putting in pie, kissed the girls and made them cry, though I never did anything of the kind. One doesn't do that sort of thing when one is young, and wise, that comes later, and brings its own care and heartbreak. Here Bellow sighed and had to peace from the loaf with the clasp knife. Are you hungry, Georgie Porgy? He inquired, glancing up at the boy who had risen and was removing some of the soil and dust from his small person with his cap. Yes I am. Then here is bread and cheese and bottled stout, so fall too, good comrade. Thank you, but I've got a piece of bread and jam in my bundle. Bundle? I dropped it as I came through the hedge. I'll get it. And as he spoke he turned, and climbing up the bank, presently came back with a very small bundle that dangled from the end of a very long stick, and seating himself beside Bellow, he proceeded to open it. There, sure enough, was the bread and jam in question, seemingly a little the worse for wear and tear. For Bellow observed various articles adhering to it, amongst other things a battered pen-knife and a top. These however were readily removed and Georgie Porgy fell too with excellent appetite. And pray, inquired Bellow, after they had munched silently together some while, pray where might you be going? I don't know yet," answered Georgie Porgy with a shake of his curls. Good again, exclaimed Bellow, neither do I. Though I'd been thinking of Africa. Continued his diminutive companion, turning the remains of the bread and jam over and over thoughtfully. Africa, repeated Bellow, staring. That's quite a goodish step from here. Yes, sighed Georgie Porgy. But you see there's gold there. Oh, lots of it! They dig it out of the ground with shovels, you know. Old Adam told me about it, and it's gold I'm looking for, you see. I'm trying to find a fortune. I... Beg your pardon? said Bellow. Money, you know. Explained to Georgie Porgy with a patient sigh. Pounds and shillings and banknotes, in a sack if I can get them. And what does such a very small Georgie Porgy want so much money for? Well, it's for my auntie, you know. So she won't have to sell her house and go away from Dablamir. She was telling me last night when I was in bed. She always comes to tuck me up, you know. And she told me she was afraid we'd have to sell Dablamir and go to live somewhere else. So I asked why, and she said because she hadn't any money, and, oh, Georgie, she said, oh, Georgie, if we could only find enough money to pay off the... The... Morgage, suggested Bellow at a venture. Yes, that's it. But how did you know? Never mind how.  If we could only find enough money or somebody would leave us a fortune, she said, and she was crying, too, because I felt a tear fall on me, you know. So this morning I got up awful early and made myself a bundle on a stick, like Dick Whittington had when he left home, and I started off to find a fortune. I see. Not at Bellow. But I haven't found anything, yet, said Georgie Porgy with a long sigh. I suppose money takes a lot of looking for, doesn't it? Sometimes, Bellow answered. And do you live alone with your auntie, then, Georgie Porgy? Yes. Most boys live with their mothers. But that's where I'm different. I don't need one, because I've got my auntie, Aunt Thea. Aunt Thea? Repeated Bellow thoughtfully. Hereupon they fell silent, Bellow watching the smoke curl up from his pipe into the warm, still air, and Georgie Porgy watching him with very thoughtful eyes and a somewhat troubled brow, as if turning over some weighty matter in his mind. At last he spoke. Please, said he with a sudden diffidence, where do you live? Live, repeated Bellow, smiling, under my hat, here, there, and everywhere, which means nowhere in particular.  My home, said Bellow, exhaling a great cloud of smoke. My home lies beyond the bounding bellow. That sounds an awful long way off. It is an awful long way off. And where do you sleep, while you're here? Anywhere there, let me. Tonight I shall sleep at some inn, I suppose, if I can find one, if not under a hedge or hay-rick. Oh, haven't you got any home of your own, then, here? No. And you're not going home just yet, I mean, across the bounding bellow? Not yet. Then, please. The small boy's voice was suddenly tremulous and eager, and he laid a little grammy hand upon Bellow's sleeve. Please, if it isn't too much trouble, would you mind coming with me to help me to find the botchen? You see, you are so very big, and—oh, will you please?" George Bellow sat up suddenly and smiled. Bellow's smile was, at all times, wonderfully pleasant to see. At least the boy thought so.  And there's my hand on it, old chap.' Bellow's lips were solemn now, but all the best of his smile seemed somehow to have gotten to his grey eyes. So the big hand clasped the small one, and as they looked at each other, there sprang up a certain understanding that was to be an enduring bond between them. "'I think,' said Bellow, as he lay, and puffed at his pipe again, "'I think I'll call you Porgyus. It's shorter, easier, and I think altogether apt.  What do you say?' "'Yes. It's lots better than Georgie Porgy,' nodded the boy, and so small Porgyus he became thenceforth. "'But,' said he, after a thoughtful pause, "'I think if you don't mind, I'd rather call you Uncle Porgyus. You see, Dick Bennett, the blacksmith's boy has three nephews, and I've only got a single aunt. So if you don't mind, Uncle Porgyus, it shall be now and forever. Ah, men!' murmured Bellow. "'And when do you suppose we'd better start?' inquired small Porgyus, beginning to retie his bundle. "'Start where, nephew?' "'To find the fortune.' "'Hum,' said Bellow. "'If we could manage to find some, even if it was only a very little, it would cheer her up so.' "'To be sure it would,' said Bellow, and, sitting up, he pitched loaf, cheese, and clasp-knife back into the knapsack, fastened it, slung it upon his shoulders, and, rising, took up his stick.   "'Why, first, I think we'd better find your auntie on Faya.' "'But,' began Porgyus, his face falling.  "'But's me no buts, boy, and, as I said before, just keep your eye on your Uncle.' End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 How Bellow came to Arcadia So they set out together, big Porgyus and small Porgyus, walking side by side over sun-kissed field and meadow, slowly and thoughtfully, to be sure, for Bellow disliked hurry, often pausing to listen to the music of running waters, or to stare away across the purple valley for the sun was getting low. And ever as they went, they talked to one another wholeheartedly as good friends assured. And from the boy's eager lips Bellow heard much of auntie on Faya, and learned, little by little, something of the brave fight she had made, lonely and unaided, and burdened with ancient debt, to make the farm of Dappelmere pay. Likewise, small Porgyus spoke learnedly of the condition of the markets, and of the distressing fall and prices in regard to hay and wheat. "'Oh, Adam, he's our man, you know. He says that farming isn't what it was in his young days, especially if you happen to be a woman like my auntie on Faya, and he told me yesterday that if you are auntie, he'd give up trying, and take Mr. Casalus at his word.' "'Casalus? Ah! And who is Mr. Casalus? He lives at Brampton Court, a great big house, but a mile from Dappelmere, and he's always asking my auntie to marry him. But of course she won't, you know. Why not? Well, I think it's because he's got such big white teeth when he smiles, and he's always smiling, you know, but old Adam says that if he'd been born a woman, he'd marry a man, all teeth or no teeth at all, if he had as much money as Mr. Casalus.' The sun was low in the west as, skirting a wood, they came out upon a grassy lane that presently led them into the great broad highway. Now, as they trudged along together, small Porges, with one hand clasped in bellows, and the other, supporting the bundle on his shoulder, there appeared, galloping towards them a man on a fine black horse, at sight of whom Porges' clasp tightened, and he drew near to Bellow's side. When he was nearly abreast of them, the horseman checked his career so suddenly that his animal was thrown back on his haunches. Why, Georgie! he exclaimed. Good evening, Mr. Casalus! said small Porges, lifting his cap. Mr. Casalus was tall, handsome, well-built, and very particular as to dress. Bellow noticed that his teeth were indeed very large and white, beneath the small, carefully-trained mustache. Also his eyes seemed just a trifle too close together, perhaps. Why, what in the world have you been up to, boy? he inquired, regarding Bellow with no very friendly eye. Your aunt is wearing herself ill on your account. What have you been doing with yourself all day? Again Bellow felt the small fingers tighten round his, and the small figures shrink a little closer to him, as small Porges answered, I've been with Uncle Porges, Mr. Casalus. With whom? Demanded Mr. Casalus more sharply. With his Uncle Porges, sir, Bellow rejoined, a trustworthy person and very much at your service. Mr. Casalus stared.  Uncle? He repeated incredulously. Porges nodded Bellow. I wasn't aware, began Mr. Casalus, that George was so very fortunate. Baptismal name George continued Bellow, lately of New York, Newport, and other places in America, USA, at present of nowhere in particular. Ah, said Mr. Casalus, his eye seeming to grow a trifle near together. An American Uncle. Still I was not aware of even that relationship. It is a singularly pleasing thought, smiled Bellow, to know that we may learn something every day, that one never knows what the day may bring forth. Tomorrow, for instance, you also may find yourself a nephew, somewhere or other, though personally I doubt it. Yes, I greatly doubt it. Still one never knows, you know, and while there's life, there's hope. A very good afternoon to you, sir. Come, nephew, mine, the evening falls apace, and I grow a weary. Let us on. Excelsior! Mr. Casalus' cheek grew suddenly red. He twirled his mustache angrily and seemed about to speak. Then he smiled instead, and, turning his horse, spurred him savagely and galloped back down the road in a cloud of dust. Did you see his teeth, Uncle Porges? I did.  Well, Porges, it's in my mind that he has gone back to warn our Auntie Anthea of our coming. Small Porges sighed, and his feet dragged in the dust. Tired, my Porges? Just a bit, you know. But it isn't that. I was thinking that the day has almost gone, and I haven't found a bit of the fortune yet. Why, there's always tomorrow to live for, my Porges.  To be sure you did, and an uncle is better than nothing at all, isn't he, even if he is rather dusty and disreputable of exterior. One doesn't find an uncle every day of one's life, my Porges.  Long would be a better word, perhaps, suggested Billow, smiling down at him. And why, too? Not at small, Porges. And from these two facts he seemed to derive a deal of solid comfort and satisfaction, for he strode on manfully once more. Leaving the high road he guided Bellew by divers winding paths through cornfields and other styles, until, at length, they were come to an orchard. Such an orchard as surely may only be found in Kent, where great apple trees, gnarled and knotted, shot out huge branches that seemed to twist and ride, where were stately pear trees, where peaches and apricots ripened against time-worn walls whose red bricks still glowed rosely for all their years, where the air was sweet with the scent of fruit and fragrant with time in sage and marjoram, and where the blackbirds, bold marauders that they are, piped gloriously all day long. In the midst of this orchard they stopped, and small Porges rested one hand against the rugged bowl of a great old apple tree. This, said he, is my very old tree, because he's so very big and so very, very old. Jim says he's the oldest tree in the orchard.  But Bellew was not looking at King Arthur just then. His eyes were turned to where one came towards them through the green, one surely as tall and gracious, as proud and beautiful, as Enid, or Guinevere, or any of those lovely ladies, for all her simple gown of blue, and the sun-bonnet that shaded the beauty of her face. Yes, as he gazed, Bellew was sure and certain that she who, all unconscious of their presence, came slowly towards them with the red glow of the sunset about her, was harsamer, lovelier, statelyer, and altogether more desirable than all the beautiful ladies of King Arthur's court, or any other court so ever. But now, small porges, finding him so silent, and seeing where he looked, must needs behold her too, and gave a sudden glad cry, and ran out from behind the great bulk of King Arthur, and she, hearing his voice, turned and ran to greet him, and sank upon her knees before him, and clasped him against her heart, and rejoiced, and wept, and scolded him all in a breath, wherefore Bellew, unobserved as yet in King Arthur's shadow, watching the proud head with its wayward curls, for the sun-bonnet had been tossed back upon her shoulders, watching the quick, passionate caress of those slender, brown hands, and listening to the thrilling tenderness of that low, soft voice, felt all at once, strangely lonely, and friendless, and out of place, very rough and awkward, and very much aware of his dusty person, felt indeed as any other ordinary human might who had tumbled unexpectedly into Arcadia. Therefore he turned, thinking to steal quietly away. "'You see, auntie, I went out to try and find a fortune for you,' small porges was explaining, and I looked and looked, but I didn't find a bit. My dear, dear brave Georgie,' said Anthea, and would have kissed him again, but he put her off. "'Wait a minute, please, auntie,' he said excitedly, "'cause I did find something, just as I was growing very tired and disappointed. I found Uncle Porges under a hedge, you know.' "'Uncle Porges,' said Anthea, starting, "'Oh, that must be the man Mr. Cassilis mentioned. "'So I brought him with me,' pursued small Porges, and there he is,' and he pointed triumphantly towards King Arthur. Glancing thither, Anthea beheld a tall, dusty figure moving off among the trees. "'Oh, wait, please,' she called, rising to her feet, and, with small Porges's hand in hers, approached Bellow who had stopped with his dusty back to them. "'I—I want to thank you for taking care of my nephew. If you will come up to the house, Cook shall give you a good meal, and if you are in need of work, I—I—her voice faltered uncertainly, and she stopped. "'Thank you,' said Bellow, turning and lifting his hat. "'Oh, I beg your pardon,' said Anthea. "'Now, as their eyes met, it seemed to Bellow as though he had lived all his life in expectation of this moment, and he knew that all his life he should never forget this moment. But now, even while he looked at her, he saw her cheeks flush painfully, and her dark eyes grow troubled. "'I beg your pardon,' said she again. "'I—I thought—Mr. Casalus gave me to understand that you were—' "'A very dusty, hungry-looking fellow, perhaps?' smiled Bellow. And he was quite right, you know, the dust you can see for yourself, but the hunger you must take my word for, as for the work, I assure you exercise is precisely what I am looking for. But,' said Anthea, and stopped, and tapped the grass nervously with her foot, and twisted one of her bonnet-strings, and, meeting Bellow's steady gaze, flushed again. "'But you—you are—my Uncle Porges!' Her nephew chimed in, and I brought him home with me, because he's going to help me find a fortune, and he hasn't got any place to go to, because his home's far, far beyond the bounding Bellow. So you will let him stay, won't you, Auntie Anthea?' "'Why, Georgie!' she began, but seeing her distressed look, Bellow came to her rescue. "'Pray do, Miss Anthea,' said he in his quiet, easy manner. "'My name is Bellow,' he went on to explain. "'I am an American, without family or friends, here, there, or anywhere, and with nothing in the world to do but follow the path of the winds. Indeed, I am rather a solitary fellow, at least. I was, until I met my nephew Porges here. Since then I've been wondering if there would be—' "'Room, for such as I, at Dappelmere?' "'Oh, there would be plenty of room,' said Anthea, hesitating and wrinkling her white brow, for a lodger was something entirely new in her experience. As to my character, pursued Bellow, though something of a vagabond I am not a rogue—at least, I hope not—and I could pay four or five pounds a week. "'Oh,' exclaimed Anthea, with a little gasp. "'If that would be sufficient, it is a great deal too much,' said Anthea, who would have scarcely dared to ask three. "'Pardon me, but I think not,' said Bellow, shaking his head. "'You see, I am rather extravagant in my eating—eggs, you know, lots of them—and ham, and beef, and er—' "'A duck,' quacked loudly for the vicinity of a neighbouring pond, certainly an occasional duck. Indeed, five pounds a week would scarcely—' "'Three would be ample,' said Anthea, with a little nod of finality. "'Very well,' said Bellow, "'will make it four and have done with it.' "'Anthea Divine, being absolute mistress of Dappelmere, was in the habit of exerting her authority, and having her own way in most things. Therefore she glanced up, in some surprise at this tall, dusty, rather lazy-looking personage, and she noticed, even as had small porges, that he was indeed very big and wide. She noticed also that, despite the easy courtesy of his manner and the quizzical light of his grey eyes, his chin was very square, and that, despite his gentle voice, he had the air of one who meant exactly what he said. Nevertheless she was much inclined to take issue with him upon the matter, plainly observing which Bellow smiled and shook his head. "'Pray be reasonable,' he said in his gentle voice, "'if you send me away to some horrible inn, or other, it will cost me, being an American, more than that every week, in tips and things. So let's shake hands on it and call it settled. That he held out his hand to her. "'Four pounds a week!' It would be a veritable godsend just at present, while she was so hard put to make both ends meet. "'Four pounds a week!' So, Aunt Faer stood, lost in frowning thought, until meeting his frank smile. She laughed. "'You are dreadfully persistent,' she said, and I know it is too much, but we'll try to make you as comfortable as we can. And she laid her hand in his. And thus it was that George Bellow came to Dappamere in the glory of the afterglow of an August afternoon, breathing the magic air of Arcadia which is, and always has been, of that rare quality warranted to go to the head sooner or later. And thus it was that small porges with his bundle on his shoulder viewed this tall, dusty uncle with the eye of possession, which is often times an eye of rapture." Adonthea. She was busy calculating to a scrupulous nicety the very next question as to exactly how far four pounds per week might be made to go to the best possible advantage of all concerned. End of Chapter 5. Chapter 6 of The Money-Moon. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Money-Moon. A Romance. By Jeffrey Farnell. Chapter 6. Of the sad condition of the haunting specter of the might have been. Dappamere farmhouse, or the manor, as it was still called by many, had been built when Henry VIII was king as the carved inscription above the door testified. The house of Dappamere was a place of many gables and lattice windows, and with tall, slender chimneys shaped and wrought into things of beauty and delight. It possessed a great old hall. There were spacious chambers and broad stairways. There were paneled corridors, sudden flights of steps that led up or down again for no apparent reason. There were broad and generous hearths and deep window seats, and everywhere, within and without, there lurked an indefinable old world charm that was the heritage of years. Worms had buffeted and tempests had beaten upon it, but all in vain for, save that the bricks glowed a deeper red where they peeped out beneath the clinging ivy, the old house stood as it had upon that far day when it was fashioned, in the year of our Lord, 1524. In England many such homes are yet to be found, monuments of the bad old times, memorials of the dark ages, when lath and stucco existed not, and the gerry-builder had no being. But where, among them all, might be found such another parlor as this at Dappelmere, with its low, raftered ceiling, its great, carved mantel, its paneled walls whence old portraits look down at one like dream faces, from dim and nebulous backgrounds, and where might be found two such bright-hide, rosy-cheeked, quick-footed, deft-handed phyllises as the two buxom maids who flitted here and there, obedient to their mistress's word or gesture? And lastly, where in all this wide world could there ever be found just such another hostess as Miss Anthea herself? Something of all this was in Bellew's mind as he sat with small porges beside him, watching Miss Anthea dispense tea, brewed as it should be, in an earthen teapot. Look and sugar, Mr. Bellew. Thank you. This is Blackberry, and this is Raspberry in red currant, but the Blackberry jams the best, Uncle Porges. Thank you, Nephew.  Nephew, I am. Nephew? Repeated Anthea glancing at him with raised brows. Oh, yes, nodded Bellew. He adopted each other at about four o'clock this afternoon. Under a hedge, you know, added small Porges. Wasn't it a very sudden and altogether unheard of proceeding? Anthea inquired. Well, it might have been if it hadn't happened anywhere but in Arcadia. What do you mean by Arcadia, Uncle Porges? A place I've been looking for nearly all my life, Nephew. I'll trouble you for the Blackberry jam, my Porges. Yes, try the Blackberry, Aunt Priscilla made it her very own self. You know, it's perfectly ridiculous, said Anthea, frowning and laughing both at the same time. What is Miss Anthea? Why, that you should be sitting here calling Georgie your nephew, and that I should be pouring out tea for you quite as a matter of course. It seems to me the most delightfully natural thing in the world, said Bellew in his slow, grave manner. But I've only known you half an hour. Oh, but then friendships ripen quickly in Arcadia. I wonder what Aunt Priscilla will have to say about it. Aunt Priscilla?  But with very sharp eyes, Mr. Bellew, she will either like you very much or not at all. There are no hath measures about Aunt Priscilla. Now I wonder which it will be, said Bellew, helping himself to more jam.  Not at small, Porges. I know she'll like you, because you're so different to Mr. Casalus.  And your mustache isn't there, is it? And I know she doesn't like Mr. Casalus. And I don't either, because she will be back tomorrow, said Anthea, silencing small Porges with a gentle touch of her hand. And we shall be glad, shan't we, Georgie? The house is not the same place without her. You see, I am off in the fields all day as a rule, a farm. Even such a small one as Dappelmere is a great responsibility, and takes up all one's time. If it is to be made to pay. And sometimes it doesn't pay at all, you know, added small Porges, and then Auntie Anthea worries. And I worry, too. Farming isn't what it was in Adam's young days, so that's why I must find a fortune, early tomorrow morning, you know, so my Auntie won't have to worry any more. Now when he had got thus far, Anthea leaned over and, taking him by surprise, kissed small Porges suddenly. It was very good and brave of you, dear. Said she and her soft, thrilling voice, to go out all alone into this big world to try and find a fortune for me. And here she would have kissed him again, but that he reminded her that they were not alone. But, Georgie, dear, fortunes are very hard to find, especially around Dappelmere, I'm afraid. Said she with a rueful little laugh. Yes, that's why I was going to Africa, you know. Africa, she repeated, Africa. Oh, yes, not in Balu. When I met him, he was on his way there to bring back gold for you, in a sack.  And thus they talked unaffectedly together until T being over, Anthea volunteered to show Balu over her small domain, and they went out, all three, to an evening that breathed of roses and honeysuckle. And as they went, slow-footed through the deepening twilight, small Porges directed Balu's attention to certain nooks and corners that might be well calculated to conceal the fortune they were to find, while Anthea pointed out to him the beauties of shady wood, of rolling meadow, and winding stream. But there were other beauties that neither of them thought to call to his attention, but which Balu noted with observing eyes nonetheless. Such, for instance, as the way Anthea had of drooping her shadowy lashes at sudden and unexpected moments, the wistful droop of her warm red lips, and the sweet round column of her throat, these, and much beside, Balu noticed for himself as they walked on together through this midsummer evening. And so, betimes, Balu got him to bed, and though the hour was ridiculously early, yet he fell into a profound slumber, and dreamed of nothing at all. But far away upon the road, forgotten, and out of mind, with futile writhing and grimaces, the haunting shadow of the might have been jibbered in the shadows. CHAPTER VII Which concerns itself, among other matters, with the old Adam. Balu awakened early next morning, which was an unusual thing for Bellow to do under ordinary circumstances, since he was one who held with that poet who has written, somewhere or other, something to the following effect. God blessed the man who first discovered sleep, but damned the man with curses loud and deep, who first invented early rising. Nevertheless, Bellow, as has been said, awoke early next morning to find the sun pouring in at his window and making a glory all about him. But it was not this that had aroused him. He thought as he lay blinking drowsily, nor the blackbird piping so wonderfully in the apple-tree outside, a very inquisitive apple-tree that had writhed and contorted itself most unnaturally in its efforts to peep in at the window. Therefore Bellow fell to wondering, sleepily enough, what it could have been. Presently it came again, the sound, a very peculiar sound, the like of which Bellow had never heard before, which, as he listened, gradually evolved itself into a kind of monotonous chant, intoned by a voice deep and harsh, yet with all not unmusical. Now the words of the chant were these. When I am dead diddle-diddle, as well may happen, bury me deep diddle-diddle under the tap. Under the tap diddle-diddle I'll tell you why, that I may drink diddle-diddle when I am dry. Hereupon Bellow rose, and crossing to the open casement, leaned out into the golden freshness of the morning. Looking about he presently aspired the singer, one who carried two pails suspended from a yoke upon his shoulders, a very square man, that is to say, square of shoulder, square of head, and square of jaw, being, in fact, none other than the wagoner with whom he had fought and ridden on the previous afternoon, seeing which Bellow hailed him in cheery greeting. The man glanced up, and, breaking off his song in the middle of a note, stood gazing at Bellow open mouth. What! Be that you, sir! he inquired, at last, and then, Lord, in what be you are doing up there? Why, sleeping, of course, answered Bellow. What! Again? exclaimed the wagoner with a grin. You do be forever asleep, and I do believe. Not when you are anywhere about, laughed Bellow. Was it me as wonky then? Your singing did. My singing! Lord, love you, and well it might. My singing would wake the dead. Least ways so prudent says, and she's generally right. Least ways, if she ain't, she's an uncommon good cook. And that goes a long way with most of us. But I don't sing very often unless I be alone, or easy in my mind and happy-hearted, which I ain't. No, inquired Bellow. Not by no matter of means I ain't, contrary wise my art be sore and full of gloom, which ain't to be wondered at know-how. And yet you were singing. Eh, for sure I were singing. But then who could help singing on such a morning as this be, and when the blackbird a-pipe it away in the tree here? Oh, I were singing. I don't go for to deny it, but it's sore-hearted I be, and filled with gloom, sir, notwithstanding. You mean, said Bellow, becoming suddenly thoughtful, that you are haunted by the carking specter of the ear. Might have been? Heh, Lord, bless you know, sir, this ain't no specter, nor yet no Skellington, which, at all, is only old bones in such. Oh, this ain't nothing of that sort, and no more it ain't a thing I can stand here a-magon about with a long day's work before me. Axing your pardons, sir. Saying which the wagoner knotted suddenly and strode off with his paddles clanking cheerily. Very soon Bellow was shaved, and dressed, and going downstairs he let himself out into the early sunshine, and strolled away towards the farmyard, where cocks crew, cows load, ducks quacked, turkeys and geese gobbled and hissed, and where the wagoner moved to and fro among them all, like a presiding genius. I think, said Bellow as he came up, I think you must be the Adam I have heard of. That be my name, sir! Then Adam, feel your pipe, and Bellow extended his pouch, whereupon Adam thanked him, and, a fishing a small, short, black clay from his pocket, proceeded to fill and light it. Yes, sir, he knotted, inhaling tobacco with much apparent enjoyment. Adam I were baptized some thirty odd years ago, but I generally calls myself Old Adam. But you're not Old Adam. Why, it ain't on account of my age, you see, sir. It be all because of the Old Adam as is inside of me. Lord Lovya, I am naturally that fool that the Old Adam is never was. And he's always up, and taken of me at the shortest notice. Only to the other day he up, and took me because of Job Jagway. E works for Squire Tassilus, you'll understand, sir? Because Job Jagway says is our wheat, meaning Miss Arthea's wheat, you'll understand, sir? Was moldy. Well, the Old Adam up, and took me to that extensor, that they had to carry Job Jagway home afterwards. Which is all on account of the Old Adam. Me being the mildest chap he ever seen, naturally. Mild? Ah! Sucking dubs wouldn't be nothing to me for mildness. And what did the Squire have to say about your spoiling his man? Wrote to Miss Arthea, of course, sir. He's always writing to Miss Arthea about something or other. Says is how he was minded to lock me up for salt and battery. But out her respect for her would let me off with a warning. Miss Arthea was worried, I suppose? Worried, sir? Oh, Adam, says she. Oh, Adam, haven't I got enough to bear, but you must make it harder for me? And I see the tears in her eyes while she said it. Me make it harder for her? Just as if I wouldn't make things lighter for her, if I could. Which I can't. Just as if, to help Miss Arthea, I wouldn't let him take me, and, well, never mind what. Only I would. Yes, I'm sure you would. Not in Bellow. And is the squire over here at Depplemir very often, Adam? Why, not so much lately, sir. Last time were yesterday, just before Master Georgie come home. I were at work here in the yard, and squire comes writing up to me, smiling, quite friendly-like, which were pretty good of him, considering as Job Jagway ain't back to work yet. Oh, Adam, says he, so you're having a sale here at Depplemir, are you? Meaning, sir, a sale of some bits and sticks of furniture, which Miss Arthea is forced apart with to meet some bill or other. Some at that, sir, says I, making as light of it as I could. Why, then, Adam, says he, if Job Jagway should happen to come over to buy a few of the things, no more fighting, says he. And so he nods, and smiles, and off he rides. And, sir, as I watched him go, the old Adam rizz up at me to that extent, as it's a mercy I didn't have no pitch for candy. But Adam, sitting on the shaft of a cart with his back against a rick, listened to this narration with an air of dreamy abstraction. But Adam's quick eyes noticed that despite the unruffled serenity of his brow, his chin seemed rather more prominent than usual. So that was why you were feeling gloomy, was it, Adam? Ah! And enough to make any man feel gloomy, I should think. Miss Arthea is brave enough. But I reckon it will come nigh breaking her heart to see the old stuff sold, the furniture and that, so she's going to drive over to Cranbook to be out of the way while it's a doon. And when does the sale take place? The Saturday after-next, sir, as ever was, Adam answered, but, hush, mumps the words, sir. He broke off, and, winking violently with a sideways motion of the head, he took up his pitchfork. Wherefore, glancing round, Belleau saw Arthea coming towards them fresh and sweet as the morning. Her hands were full of flowers, and she carried her sun-bonnet upon her arm. Here and there a rebellious curl had escaped from its fastenings as though desirous, and very naturally, of kissing the soft oval of her cheek, or the white curve of her neck, and among them Belleau noticed one in particular, a roguish curl that glowed in the sun with coppery light, and peeped at him wantingly above her ear. Good morning! said he, rising and to all appearance, addressing the curl in question. You are early abroad this morning. Early, Mr. Belleau, why, I've been up-hours. I'm generally out at four o'clock on market days. We work hard at long at Dappelmere," she answered, giving him her hand with her grave sweet smile. I, for sure, not at Adam, but Friarman ain't what it was in my young days. But I think we shall do well with the hops, Adam. Ops, Miss Antea! Lord love you! There ain't no hops nowhere so good as our own be. They ought to be ready for picking soon. Do you think sixty people will be enough? Ah! There'll be more than enough, Miss Antea. And, Adam, the five-acre field should be mowed to-day. I'll set them in at it right after breakfast. I'll have it done, trust me, Miss Antea. I do, Adam, you know that." And with a smiling nod she turned away. Now, as Belleau walked on beside her, he felt a strange constraint upon him such as he had never experienced towards any woman before, and the witch he was at great pains with himself to account for. Indeed, so rapt was he that he started suddenly to find that she was asking him a question. Do you like Dappelmere, Mr. Belleau? Like it?" He repeated, like it? Yes, indeed. I'm so glad."  It was a much larger property once. Look! And she pointed away across cornfields and rolling meadow to the distant woods. In my grandfather's time it was all his. As far as you can see and farther. But it has dwindled since then, and to-day. My Dappelmere is very small indeed. You must be very fond of such a beautiful place. Oh! I love it!" She cried passionately. If ever I had to give it up, I think I should die. She stopped suddenly, and as though somewhat abashed by this sudden outburst, adding in a lighter tone, If I seem rather tragic it's because this is the only home I have ever known. Well, said Belleau, appearing rather more dreamy than usual just then, I have journeyed here and there in this world of ours. I have wandered up and down and to and fro in it, like a certain celebrated person at you shall be nameless, yet I never saw or dreamed of any such place as this Dappelmere of yours. It is like Arcadia itself, only I am out of place. I seem, somehow, to be too commonplace. And all together matter a fact. I'm sure I matter a fact enough.  You, said he, and shook his head. Well, she inquired, glancing at him through her wind-tossed curls. You are like some fair and stately lady out of the old romances, he said gravely, in a print gown and with a sun bonnet. Even so, he nodded. Here, for no apparent reason happening to meet his glance, the color deepened in her cheek and she was silent. Wherefore, Belleau went on, in his slow, placid tones. You surely are the princess ruling this fair land of Arcadia. And I am the stranger within your gates. It behooves you, therefore, to be merciful to this stranger, if only for the sake of our mutual nephew. Whatever Anthea might have said in answer was cut short by small porges himself who came galloping towards them with the sun bright in his curls. Oh, Uncle Porges! He panted as he came up, I was afraid you'd gone away and left me. I've been hunting and hunting for you ever since I got up.  And you won't go, ever or ever, will you? That, said Belleau, taking the small hand in his, that is a question that we had better leave to the, um, future nephew. But why? Well, you see, it doesn't rest with me altogether, my Porges. Then who? He was beginning, but Anthea's soft voice interrupted him. Georgie, dear, didn't Prudence send you to tell us that breakfast was ready? Oh, yes! I was forgetting! Awful silly of me, wasn't it?  I certainly hope so, answered Belleau. Now, as he spoke, his eyes, by the nearest chance in the world, of course, happened to meet Anthea's, whereupon she turned and slipped on her sun-bonnet, which was very natural, for the sun was growing hot already. I'm awful glad, sighed small Porges, and Anthea's glad, too, aren't you, Anthea? Why, of course, from the depths of the sun-bonnet. Because now, you see, there'll be two of us to take care of you. Uncle Porges is so nice and big and wide, isn't he, Anthea? Yes. Oh, Georgie, what are you talking about? Why, I mean, I'm rather small to take care of you all by myself alone, Aunty, though I do my best, of course. But now that I've found myself a big, tall Uncle Porges, under the hedge, you know, we can take care of you together, can't we, Aunty Anthea? But Anthea only hurried on without speaking, whereupon small Porges continued all unheeding. You remember the other night, Aunty, when you were crying and you said you wished you had someone very big and strong to take care of you? Oh, Georgie, Bell who heartily wished the sun-bonnets had never been thought of. But you did, you know, Aunty, and so that was why I went on and found my Uncle Porges for you. So the he... But here, Mr. Anthea, for all her pride and statelyness, catching her gown about her, fairly ran on down the path and never paused until she had reached the cool, dim parlor. Being there, she tossed aside her sun-bonnet and looked at herself in the long, old mirror, and, though surely no mirror made by man, ever reflected a fairer vision of dark-eyed witchery and loveliness. Nevertheless, Aunty Anthea stamped her foot and frowned at it. Oh!  Meanwhile big Porges and small Porges, walking along hand in hand, shook their heads solemnly, wondering much upon the capriciousness of aunts and the waywardness thereof. I wonder why she runned away, Uncle Porges. Ah! I wonder.  Hum! said Bello. An Aunty takes an awful lot of looking after. Sigh small Porges. Yes. Not at Bello, I suppose so. Only if she happens to be young and, um, in what, Uncle Porges? Beautiful, nephew. Oh! Do you think she's really beautiful? Demanded small Porges. I'm afraid I do, Bello confessed. So does Mr. Cassilis. I heard him tell her so once, in the orchard. Huh! said Bello. Ah! But you ought to see her when she comes to tuck me up at night, with her hair all down and hanging all about her, like a shiny cloak, you know. Hum! said Bello. Please, Uncle Porges! said Georgie, turning to look up at him. What makes you hum so much this morning? I was thinking, my Porges, about my Aunty Anthea. I do admit the soft impeachment, sir. Well, I'm thinking too. What is it, old chap? I'm thinking we ought to begin to find that fortune for her after breakfast. Why, it isn't quite the right season for fortune-hunting yet, at least, not in Arcadia. Answered Bello, shaking his head. Oh! But why not? Well, the moon isn't right for one thing. The moon? echoed small Porges. Oh, yes. We must wait for a, er, a money-moon, you know. Surely you've heard of a money-moon? Why not? sighed small Porges regretfully. But I've heard of a honey-moon? Oh! They're often much the same. Not at Bello. But then when will the money-moon come, and how? I can't exactly say, my Porges, but come at will one of these fine nights, and when it does we shall know that the fortune is close by and waiting to be found. So don't worry your small head about it. Just keep your eye on your uncle. Be times they came into breakfast, where Arthéa awaited them at the head of the table. Then who so demure, so gracious, and self-possessed? So sweetly sedate is she. But the cavalier in the picture above the carved mantle, versed in the ways of the world and the pretty tricks and wiles of the beau-sex feminine, smiled down at Bello with an expression of such roguish waggery as said plain as words, we know. And Bello, remembering a certain pair of slender ankles that had revealed themselves in their hurried flight, smiled back at the cavalier, and it was all he could do to refrain from winking outright. CHAPTER VIII. Which tells of Miss Priscilla, of Peaches, and of Sergeant Appleby, late of the nineteenth hussars. Small Porges was at his lessons. He was perched at the great oak table beside the window, pen in hand, and within easy reach of Anthea, who set busy with her daily letters and accounts. Small Porges was laboriously inscribing in a somewhat splashed and besmeared copy-book the rather surprising facts that a stitch in time saves nine, nine, that the Tegas, a river in Spain, are, and that Artaxerxes was a king of the Persians, a, and the like surprising, curious, and interesting items of news, his pen making not half so many curls and twists as did his small red tongue. As he wrote, he frowned terrifically, and sighed off betwixt wiles, and Bello, watching, where he stood outside the window, noticed that Anthea frowned also, as she bent over her accounts and sighed wearily more than once. It was after a sigh rather more hopeless than usual that chastening to raise her eyes, they encountered those of the watcher outside, who, seeing himself discovered, smiled, and came to lean in at the open window. Won't they balance? He inquired with a nod toward the heap of bills and papers before her.  If only we had done better with our first crop of wheat! She sighed.  Yes, auntie.  I'm building all my hopes this year on the hops, said Anthea, sinking her head upon her hand, if they should fail. Well—enquired Bellow with his gaze upon the soft curve of her throat. I dare not think of it. Then don't, let us talk of something else. Yes, of Aunt Priscilla, not of Anthea. She is in the garden. And pray, who is Aunt Priscilla? Go and meet her.  As it was, that turning obediently into the orchard and looking about, Bellow presently aspired a little bright-eyed old lady who sat beneath the shadow of King Arthur, with a rustic table beside her, upon which stood a basket of sowing. Now as he went, he chanced to spy a ball of worstet that had fallen by the way, and, stooping, therefore, he picked it up, while she watched him with her quick, bright eyes. Good morning, Mr. Bellow! She said in response to his salutation, it was nice of you to trouble to pick up an old woman's ball of worstet. As she spoke, she rose, and dropped him a courtesy, and then, as he looked at her again, he saw that despite her words and despite her white hair, she was much younger and prettier than he had thought. I am Miss Antthea's housekeeper. She went on, I was away when you arrived, looking after one of Miss Antthea's old ladies, pray be seated. Miss Antthea, bless her, dear heart, calls me her aunt, but I'm not really, oh, dear no, I'm no relation at all, but I've lived with her long enough to feel as if I was her aunt, and her uncle, and her father, and her mother, all rolled into one, though I should be rather small to be so many, shouldn't I? And she laughed so gaily and unaffectedly that Bellow laughed too. I'll give you all this." She went on, keeping pace to her flying needle.  I always like or dislike a person on the spot. First impressions, you know?' "'Yes.'" She continued, glancing up at him sideways. "'I like you, just as much as I dislike Mr. Cassilis. I ho! How I do! Detest that man. There. Now, that's off my mind.' "'And why?' inquired Bellow, smiling. "'Dear me, Mr. Bellow, how should I know? Only I do, and what's more, he knows it, too. And how?' She inquired, changing the subject abruptly. "'How is your bed? Comfortable? Mh. Very. You sleep well? Like a top. Any complaints so far?' "'None-whatever,' laughed Bellow, shaking his head. "'That is very well. We have never had a border before, and Miss Anthea, bless her dear soul, was a little nervous about it. "'And here's the sergeant.' "'I, um, beg your pardon?' said Bellow.  Sergeant Applebee, later the nineteenth hosards, a soldier every inch of him, Mr. Bellow, with one arm. Over there, by the peaches.' Being in the direction she indicated, Bellow observed a tall figure, very straight and upright, clad in a tight-fitting blue coat, with extremely tight trousers strapped beneath the insteps, and with a hat balanced upon his clothes-cropped, grizzled head at a perfectly impossible angle for any saven ex-calorie man. Now, as he stood examining a peach-tree that flourished against the opposite wall, Bellow saw that his right sleeve was empty, sure enough, and was looped across his broad chest. "'The very first thing he will say will be that it is a very fine day,' knotted Miss Priscilla, stitching away faster than ever, and the next that, the peaches are doing remarkably well. Now mark my words, Mr. Bellow.' As she spoke, the sergeant wheeled suddenly right about face, and came striding down towards them, jingling imaginary spurs, and with his stick tucked up under his remaining arm, very much as if it had been a sabre. Being come up to them, the sergeant raised a stiff arm as though about to salute them, military fashion, but apparently changing his mind, took off the straw hat instead, and put it on again, more over one ear than ever. "'A particular fine day, Miss Priscilla, for the time of the year,' said he.  "'And the peaches, ma'am,' continued the sergeant, "'the peaches never looked better, ma'am.' Having said which, he stood looking at nothing in particular, with his one hand resting lightly upon his hip. "'Yes, to be sure, Sergeant,' nodded Miss Priscilla with another sly look, "'but let me introduce you to Mr. Bellow, who was staying at Dappelmere.' The sergeant stiffened, once more began a salute, changed his mind, took off his hat instead, and, after looking at it as though not quite sure what to do with it next, clapped it back upon his ear, in imminent danger of falling off, and was done with it. "'How'd to know you, sir?  The sergeant hesitated, then put out his remaining hand. "'My left, sir,' said he apologetically. "'Can't be helped. Lift my right out in India, good many years ago. Good place for soldiering India, sir. Pretty of active service. Chance is a promotion, though the son bad.' "'Sargent,' said Miss Priscilla, without seeming to glance up from her sewing, "'Sargent, your hat!' Hereupon the sergeant gave a sudden, sideways jerk of the head, and, in the very nick of time, saved the article in question from tumbling off, and, very dexterously, brought it to the top of his close cropped head, whence it immediately began, slowly, and by scarcely perceptible degrees, to slide down to his ear again. "'Sargent,' said Miss Priscilla again, "'sit down, do.' "'Thank you, ma'am,' said he, and proceeded to seat himself at the other end of the rustic bench, where he remained, bolt upright, and with his long legs stretched out straight before him, as is and has been, the manner of cavalrymen, since they first wore straps. "'And now,' said he, staring straight in front of him, "'how might Miss Aunt Fayaby?' "'Oh, very well, thank you,' nodded Miss Priscilla. "'Good,' exclaimed the sergeant, with his eyes still fixed, "'very good. Here he passed his hand two or three times across his shaven chin, regarding an apple-tree nearby, with an expression of the most profound interest. "'And how?' said he again, "'how might Master Georgie be?' "'Master Georgie is as well as ever,' answered Miss Priscilla, stitching away faster than before, and Balu thought she kept her rosy cheeks stooped a little lower over her work. Meanwhile the sergeant continued to regard the tree with the same degree of lively interest, and to rasp his fingers to and fro across his chin. Suddenly he coughed behind his hand, went upon Miss Priscilla raised her head, and looked at him. "'Well,' she inquired, very softly. "'And pray, ma'am,' said the sergeant, removing his gaze from the tree with a jerk, "'how might you be feeling, ma'am?' "'Much the same as usual, thank you,' she answered, smiling like a girl for all her white hair, as the sergeant's eyes met hers. "'You look,' said he, pausing to cough behind his hand again, "'you look blooming, ma'am. If you'll allow the expression, blooming as you ever do, ma'am.  "'Old, ma'am,' repeated the sergeant, "'old, ma'am, nothing of the sort, ma'am. Age has nothing to do with it. Isn't the years as count? We aren't any older than we feel. Eh, sir?' "'Of course not,' answered Balu. "'Nor did we look. Eh, sir?' "'Certainly not, sergeant,' answered Balu. "'And she, sir, she don't look. A day older than—' "'Thirty-five,' said Balu. "'Exactly, sir, very true, my own opinion. Thirty-five exactly, sir.' "'Sargent,' said Miss Priscilla, bedding over her work again, "'Sargent, your hat!' The sergeant, hereupon, removed the distracting headgear altogether and sat with it upon his knee, staring hard at the tree again. Then, all at once, with a sudden gesture, he drew a large silver watch from his pocket, rather as if it were some weapon of offence. Looked at it, listened to it, and then, nodding his head, rose to his feet. "'Must be going,' he said, standing very straight and looking down at little Miss Priscilla. "'Though sorry as ever. Must be going, ma'am. Miss Priscilla, ma'am, good day to you!' And he stretched out his hand to her with a sudden jerky movement. Miss Priscilla paused in her sewing and looked up at him with her youthful smile. "'Must you go so soon, Sergeant?' "'Then, good-bye, until to-morrow.' And she laid her very small hand in his big palm. The sergeant stared down at it as though he were greatly minded to raise it to his lips. Instead of doing which, he dropped it, suddenly, and turned to bellow. "'Sir, I am proud to have met you.' "'Sir, there is a poor crippled soldier, as I know. His cottage is very small and humble, sir. But if you ever feel like dropping in on him, sir, by day or night, he will be—' "'Honored, sir, honoured.' "'And that's me, Sergeant Richard Applebee, late of the nineteenth hussars, at your service, sir.' Saying which, he put on his hat, stiff-armed, quealed, and strode away through the orchard, jingling his imaginary spurs louder than ever. "'Well,' inquired Miss Priscilla in her quick, bright way, "'well, Mr. Bellew, what do you think of him? First impressions are all his best. At least I think so. What do you think of Sergeant Applebee?' "'I think he's a splendid fellow,' said Bellew, looking after the sergeant's upright figure. "'A very foolish old fellow, I think, and as stiff as one of the ramrods of one of his own guns,' said Miss Priscilla, but her clear blue eyes were very soft and tender as she spoke. "'And as fine a soldier is a man, I'm sure,' said Bellew.' "'Why, yes, he was a good soldier. Once upon a time, I believe.  Oh, yes, he was a fine soldier once, but he's a very foolish old soldier now, I think, and as stiff as a ramrod of one of his own guns. "'But I'm glad you like him, Mr. Bellew, and he will be proud and happy for you to call and see him at his cottage. And now, I suppose, it is half past eleven, isn't it?' "'Yes, just half past,' knotted Bellew, glancing at his watch. "'Exact to time as usual,' said Miss Priscilla. "'I don't think the sergeant has missed a minute or very diminished in the last five years. You see, he is such a very methodical man, Mr. Bellew.' "'Why, then, does he come every day at the same hour?' "'Every day,' knotted Miss Priscilla. "'It has become a matter of habit with him.' "'Ah,' said Bellew, smiling, "'if you were to ask me why he comes, I should answer that I fancy it is, too.' "'Look at the peaches, dear me, Mr. Bellew, what a very foolish old soldier he is, to be sure.' Saying which, pretty, bright-eyed Miss Priscilla laughed again, folded up her work, settled it in the basket with a deaf little pat, and rising took a small crutch-stick from where it had lain concealed. And then Bellew saw that she was lame. "'Oh, yes, I'm a cripple, you see,' she nodded. "'Oh, very, very lame. My ankle, you know. That is why I came here. The big world didn't want a poor lame old woman. That is why Miss Anthey made me her aunt. God bless her.' "'No, thank you. I can carry my basket. So you see, he has lost an arm, his right one, and I am lame in my foot. Perhaps that is why.' "'Hi-ho! How beautifully the Blackbirds are singing this morning, to be sure.' End of Chapter 8. CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH MAY BE FOUND IS SOME DESCRIPTION OF ARCADIA AND GOOSEBERRIES. Antheyah, leaning on her rake in a shady corner of the five-acre field, turned to watch Bellew, who, stripped to his shirt-sleeves, bare of neck and arm, and pitchfork in hand, was busy tossing up great mounds of sweet-smelling hay to Adam, who stood upon a wagon to receive it, with small porges perched up beside him. A week had elapsed since Bellew had found his way to Dappelmere. A week which had only served to strengthen the bonds of affection between him and his nephew, and to win over sharp-eyed shrewd little Miss Priscilla to the extent of declaring him to be, fast a gentleman, aren't they, my dear, and, secondly, what is much rarer nowadays, a true man. A week, and already he was hail-fellow well met with everyone about the place, for who was proof against his unaffected gaiety, his simple, easy, good fellowship. So he laughed, and joked as he swung his pitchfork awkwardly enough to be sure, and received all hints and directions as to its use, in the kindly spirit they were tendered. And Antheyah, watching him from her shady corner, sighed once or twice, and, catching herself, so doing, stamped her foot at herself, and pulled her sun-bonnet closer about her face. No, Adam, he was saying, depend upon it, there is nothing like exercise, and of all exercise, give me a pitchfork. Why, astral out, Mr. Bellew, sir! Adam retorted. I say, so be it, so long as I ain't near the wrong end of it, for the way you do have a flourishing and a whirling that their fork is fair astonishing, I do declare it be. Why, you see, Adam, there are some born with a leaning towards pitchforks, as there are others born to the pen and the palette in things, but for me, Adam, the pitchfork every time, said Bellew, mobbing his brow. If you was to try and handle it more as if it was a pitchfork now, Mr. Bellew, sir, suggested Adam, and, not waiting for Bellew's laughing rejoinder, he churled up to the horses, and the great wagon creaked away with its mountainous load, surmounted by Adam's grinning visage, and small porges' golden curls, and followed by the rest of the merry-boy's tail-makers. Now it was that, turning his head, Bellew spied on Thea watching him, whereupon he shouldered his fork, and, coming to where she sat upon a throne of hay, he sank down at her feet with a luxurious sigh. She had never seen him without a collar before, and now she could not but notice how round and white and powerful his neck was, and how the muscles bulged upon arm and shoulder, and how his hair curled in small damp rings upon his brow. It is good, said he, looking up into the witching face above him. Yes, it is very good to see you idle just for once. And I was thinking it was good to see you work just for once. Work! he exclaimed, my dear Miss Anthea, I assure you I have become a positive glutton for work. It has become my earnest desire to plant things, and grow things, and chop things with axes, to mold things with scythes. I dream of pastures and ploughs of pales and pitchforks by night, and by day reaping hooks, hose, and rakes are in my thoughts continually, which all goes to show the effect of this wonderful air of Arcadia. Indeed, I am as full of suppressed energy these days as Adam is of the old Adam. And talking of Adam reminds me that he has solemnly pledged himself to initiate me into the mysteries of swinging a scythe to-morrow morning at five o'clock. Yes, indeed, my heart bounds responsive to the swish of a scythe and thick grass, and my soul sits enraptured upon a pitchfork.  And how perfectly content, he added. Is any one ever quite content? she sighed, glancing down at him, wistful-eyed. Not unless they have found Arcadia, he answered. Have you, then? Yes. He nodded complacently. Oh, yes, I found it. Are you sure? Well, quite sure. Arcadia, she repeated, wrinkling her brows. What is Arcadia, and where? Arcadia answered Bellow, watching the smoke rise up from his pipe with a dreamy eye. Arcadia is the promised land, the land that everyone tries to find some time or other, and maybe anywhere. And how came you to find it? By the most fortunate chance in the world, tell me, said Anthea, taking a whisper of hay, and beginning to plate it in dexterous brown fingers. Tell me how you found it. Why, then, you must know, in the first place, he began in his slow even voice, that it is a place I have sought for in all my wanderings, and I have been pretty far afield, but I sought it so long and so vainly that I began to think it was like the El Dorado of the old adventurers, and it never existed at all. Yes, said Anthea, busy with her plating. But one day, fate, or chance, or destiny, or their benevolent spirit, sent a certain square-shouldered wagoner to show me the way, and, after him, a very small porges, bless him, to lead me into this wonderful Arcadia. Oh, I see! Not an Anthea very intent upon her plating. But there is something more, said Bellow. Oh, said Anthea, shall I tell you? If it is very interesting. Well, then, in this delightful land there is a castle, grim, embattled, and very strong. A castle? said Anthea, glancing up suddenly. The castle of heart's desire. Oh! said she, and gave all her attention to her plating again. And so continued Bellow. I am waiting, very patiently, until, in her own good time, she who rules within, shall open the gate to me, or bid me go away. And to Bellow's voice had crept a thrill no one had ever heard before. He leaned near to her, and his dreamy eyes were keen now, and eager. And she, though she saw nothing of all this, yet, being a woman, knew it was there, of course, and, for that very reason, looked resolutely away. Wherefore, once again, Bellow heartily wished that sun-bonance had never been invented. So there was silence, while Anthea stared away across the golden cornfields, yet saw nothing of them, and Bellow looked upon those slender, capable fingers that had faltered in their plating, and stopped. And thus, upon the silence, there broke a sudden voice shrill with interest. Go on, Uncle Porges, what about the dragons? Oh, please, go on. There's always dragons enchanted castles, you know, to guard the lovely princess. Aren't you going to have any dragons that hiss, you know, and spit out smoke and flames? Oh, do please have a dragon. And small Porges appeared from the other side of the hay-mow, flushed and eager. Certainly my Porges, not in Bellow, drawing the small figure down beside him. I was forgetting the dragons, but there they are, with scaly backs and iron claws spitting out sparks and flames, just as self-respecting dragons should, and roaring away like thunder. Ah! exclaimed small Porges, nestling closer to Bellow, and reaching out a hand to Aunty Anthea. That's fine. Let's have plenty of dragons. Do you think, uh, uh, a dozen would be enough, my Porges? Oh, yes, but suppose the beautiful princess didn't open the door. What would you do if you were really a wandering knight who was waiting patiently for it to open? What would you do then? Shin up a tree, my Porges. Oh, but that wouldn't be a bit right, would it, Aunty? Of course not. Laughed Aunthea, it would be most a nightlike and very undignified. Sides, added small Porges. You couldn't climb up a tree in your armor, you know. Then I'd make an awful good try at it. Not in Bellow. No, said small Porges, shaking his head. Shall I tell you what you ought to do? Well, then, you draw your two-edged sword and dress your shield, like Gareth the kitchen-nave did.  And then what would happen? inquired Bellow. Why, then, the lovely princess would open the gate and marry you, of course. I'd live happily ever after, and all would be revelry and joy. Ah, sighed Bellow. If she'd do that, I think I'd fight all the dragons that ever roared, and kill them too. But supposing she wouldn't open the gate. Why, then, said small Porges, wrinkling his brow. Why, then, you'd have to storm the castle, of course, and break open the gate and run off with the princess on your charger, if she was very beautiful, you know. A most excellent idea, my Porges. If I should happen to find myself in like circumstances, I'll surely take your advice. Now, as he spoke, Bellow glanced at Anthea and she at him. And straightway she blushed. And then she laughed, and then she blushed again, and still blushing, rose to her feet, and turned to find Mr. Casalus within the yard of them. Ah, Miss Anthea! said he, lifting his hat. I sent Georgie to find you, but it seems he forgot to mention that I was waiting. I'm awful sorry, Mr. Casalus, but Uncle Porges was telling us about dragons, you know. Small Porges hastened to explain. Dragons! repeated Mr. Casalus with his supercilious smile. Ah, indeed! Dragons should be interesting, especially in such a very quiet, shady nook as this. Quite an idyllic place for storytelling. It's a positive shame to disturb you.  And as in their first meeting, there was a mute antagonism in their look. Let me introduce you to each other, said Anthea, conscious of this attitude. Mr. Casalus of Brampton Court. Mr. Bello. Of nowhere in particular, sir, added Bello. And pray, said Mr. Casalus perfunctorily, as they strolled on across the meadow. How do you like Dappelmere, Mr. Bello? Immensely, sir, beyond all expression. Yes, it is considered rather pretty, I believe. Lovely, sir. Not in Bello, though it is not so much the beauty of the place itself, their appeals to me so much is what it contains. Oh, indeed, said Mr. Casalus with a sudden sharp glance. To what do you refer? Gooseberry, sir. I, um, beg your pardon. Sir, said Bello gravely, all my life I have fostered a secret passion for gooseberries, raw or cooked. In pie, pudding or jam, they are equally alluring. Unhappily, the American gooseberry is but a hollow mockery at best. Ha! said Mr. Casalus dubiously. Now, in gooseberries, as in everything else, sir, there is to be found the superlative, the quintessence, the ideal. Consequently, I have roamed east and west and north and south in quest of it. Really! said Mr. Casalus, stifling a yawn and turning towards Miss Anthea with a very slightest shrug of his shoulders. And in dapple-mir, concluded Bello solemnly, I have at last found my ideal.  Arcadia being land of ideals, not at Bello. Ideals, said Mr. Casalus, crushing his mustache. Ideals and gooseberries, though probably excellent things in themselves, are apt to pawl upon one in time. Personally, I find them equally insipid. Of course, it is all a matter of taste, sighed Bello. But Mr. Casalus went on, fairly turning his back upon him. The subject I wished to discuss with you, Miss Anthea, was the, uh, approaching sail. The sail, she repeated, all the brightness dying out of her face. I wished, said Casalus, leaning near to her and lowering his voice confidentially, to try to convince you how unnecessary it would be if— And he paused significantly. Anthea turned quickly aside, as though to hide her mortification from Bello's keen eyes, whereupon he, seeing it all, became straightway more dreamy than ever, and, laying a hand upon small Porges's shoulder, pointed with his pitchfork to where, at the other end of the Five Acre, the hay-makers worked away as merrily as ever. Come, my Porges, said he, let us away, and join Jan Happy Throng. And, uh, with daftness and clough and blowsabelle, we'll list to the, uh, cuckoo in the dell. So, hand in hand, the two Porges set off together. But when they had gone some distance, Bello looked back. And then he saw that Anthea walked with her head averted. Yet Cassilis walked close beside her, and stooped now and then, until the black mustache came very near the curl. That curl of wanton witchery that peeped above her ear. Uncle Porges, why do you frown so? Frown, my Porges, did I? Well, I was thinking. Well, I'm thinking too, only I don't frown, you know, but I'm thinking just the same. And what might you be thinking, nephew? I was thinking that, although you're so awful fond of gooseberries, and though there's lots of ripens on the bushes, I've never seen you eat a single one.