"Yes: the other summerhouse fronts a bit more up the harbour; t'wards the fireworks, that's to say." "You ought to know: you chose it. . . . But anyway . But anyway I asked her first." "Thank you thank you both!" interposed Mrs Bosenna, leaving the question open. "And may I bring Dinah too? She's almost as silly about fireworks as I am, poor woman! and life on a farm can be dull." She sighed, and added, "Besides, 'twould be more proper. We mustn't set people talking -eh, Captain Hocken?" She appealed to him with a laugh. "Cai won't be here," announced 'Bias heavily. "Who said so?" demanded Cai. ourb on his temper. [But what ailed 'Bias to-night?] "I'll get a small Sub-committee appointed this very evening. But about takin' & hand myself, I've changed my mind." "Indeed, Captain Hocken, I hope you'll not desert desert the party," said Mrs Bosenna prettily, and laughed again. "Do you know that, having made so bold I've a mind to make bolder yet, and pretend I am entertaining you tomorrow. It's the only chance you give me, you two." She said this with her eyes on 'Bias, who started as if stung and glanced first at her, then at Cai. But Cai observed nothing, being occupied at the moment in winding up the musical-box, which had run down. Mrs Bosenna smiled a demure smile. She had discovered what she had come to learn; and having discovered it, she presently took her leave, with a promise to be punctual on the morrow. "For fireworks, it seems," words is that I dreamt I dwelt said Cai sadly. "But I reckoned-though I hate to talk about it as this one looked straighter out to sea an' by consequence 'd please ye better. That's why.... You're welcome to change gardens tomorrow." "Mrs Bosenna's comin' tomorrow," grunted 'Bias, and then, after a second's pause, swore under his breath, yet audibly. in Marble Halls with Princes and Peers by my si-i-ide-just like that. Princes!" She leaned back in the cheap chair and closed her eyes. "It goes through me to this day. I used to sing it frequent in my 'teens, along with another popular favourite which was quite at the other end of the social scale, but artless-'My Mother said that I never should Play with the gypsies "What's the matter with In the wood. If I did, She ye, 'Bias?" would say, Tum tiddle, tum tiddle, tum-ti-tay-my memory is not what it was.” Mrs Bowldler wiped her "I don't know. . . . Maybe 'tis that box o' tunes gets on my temper. No, don't take it I didn' mean it like eyes. away. that, an' the music used to be pretty enough, first-along. "We'll give it a spell," said Cai, stooping and switching off the tune. "I'm not musical myself; I'd as lief hear thunder, most days. But the thing was well meant." "Ay, an' no doubt we'll pick up a taste for it again-indoors of an evenin' when the winter comes 'round.” "Tell ye what," suggested Cai. "To-morrow, I'll take it off to John Peter and ask him to put a brass plate on the lid, with an inscription. He's clever at such things, an' terrible dilatory. . . . An' tonight Mrs Bowldler can have it in the kitchen. She dotes on it 'I dreamt that I dwelt' in particular." "Which," said Mrs Bowldler to Palmerston later on, as they sat drinking in that ditty one on either side of the kitchen table, "it can't sing, but the "And did you?" asked Palmerston. "Tell me what happened." Next morning, while the Church bells were ringing in Regatta Day, Captain Cai tucked the musical-box under his arm and called, on his way to the Committee Ship, upon Mr John Peter Nanjulian (commonly "John Peter" for short). John Peter, an elderly man, dwelt with a yet more elderly sister, in an old roomy house set eminently on the cliff-side above the roofs of the Lower Town, approachable only by a pathway broken by flights of steps, and known by the singular name of On the Wall. The house had been a family mansion, and still preserved traces of ancient dignity, albeit jostled by cottages which had climbed the slope and encroached nearer and nearer never be as the Nanjulians under stress because he could John Peter received Captain John Peter was eccentric, as all these later Nanjulians had been a lean, stooping man, with a touch of breeding in his face, a weak mouth, and a chin dotted with tufts of gray hair which looked as if they had been affixed with gum and absent-mindedly. He was reputed to be a great reader, and could quote the poetical works of Pope by the yard. He had some skill with the pencil and the water-colour brush. He understood and could teach the theory of navigation; dabbled in chess problems; and had once constructed an astronomical timepiece. His not-too-clean hands were habitually stained with acids: for he practised etching, too, although his plates invariably went wrong. He had considerable skill in engraving upon brass and copper, and was not above eking out his income by inscribing coffinplates. But the undertaker was shy of employing him "The works are clogged with dust," he announced. "Fairly caked with oil and dirt. No wonder it won't go." "But it does go," objected Captain Cai. "You don't tell me! Well, you'd best let me take out the works, any way, and give them a bath of paraffin." "Is it so serious as all that? 6 What I came about now, was to ask you to make a brass plate for the lid—with an insoription." Captain Cai pulled out a scrap of paper. "Something like this, Presented to Caius Hocken, Master of the Hannah Hoo, on the Occasion of his Retirement. By his affectionate undersigned': then the names, with maybe a motto or a verse o' poetry if space permits." "What sort of poetry?" "Eh? "Tell ye the truth, I didn' know till this moment that there were different sorts. Well, we'll have the best." "Why not go to Benny, and get him to fix you up something appropriate?" suggested John Peter. "Old Benny, I mean, that writes the letters for seamen. He's a dab at verses. People go to him regular for the In-Memoriams they put in the newspaper." "That's an idea, too," said Captain Cai. "I'll consult him to-morrow. But that won't hinder your getting ahead wi' the plate?" he added; for John Peter's ways were notorious. "How would you like it?" John Peter looked purblindly about him, rubbing his spectacles with a threadbare coattail. "Well, I don't mind," said Cai with promptitude. "Though 'tis rather early in the morning." "Old English?" "Samuel Bosenna, of Rilla, b. 1830, d. 1895." "Would that be th' old fellow up the valley, as was ?— Mrs Bosenna's husband?" asked Cai, somewhat awed. "That's the man." "But what's it doing here?" ""Tis my unfortunate propensity," confessed John Peter with simple frankness. "You see, by the nature of things these plates must be engraved in a hurry-I quite see it from the undertaker's point of view. But, on the other hand, if you're an artist, it isn't always you feel in the mood; you wait for what they call inspiration, and then the undertaker gets annoyed and throws Perhaps I don't know it by the thing back on your hands.” that name." "Or there's Plain." "Not for me, thank ye." Or again, there's Italic; to my mind the best of all. It lends itself to little twiddles and flourishes, according to your taste.' Old John Peter led him to the wall and pointed with a dirty finger; and Cai gasped, finding his attention directed to a line of engraved coffin-plates. "That's Italio," said John Peter, selecting an inscription and tracing over the flourishes with his thumb-nail. "William Penwarne, b. 1837 -' that's the year the Queen came to the throne. It's easier to read, you see, than old English, and far easier than what we call Gothic, or Ecclesiastical- which is another variety though, of course, not so easy as Plain. Here you have Plain have Plain —” He indicated an inscription With a pathetic, patient smile John Peter rubbed his spectacles again, and again adjusted them. "Perhaps you'd like Plain, after all?" he suggested. "It usually doesn't take me so long." "No," decided Cai somewhat hurriedly; "it might remindI mean, there isn't the same kind of hurry with a musicalbox." "It would be much the better for a bath of paraffin," muttered John Peter, prying into the works. But Cai continued to stare at the plate on the wall, and was staring at it when a voice at the door called "Good mornin'!" and Mr Philp entered. "Ho!" said Mr Philp, "I didn' know as you two were acquainted. And what might you be doin' here, cap'n?" "A triflin' matter of business, that's all," answered Cai, who chafed under Mr Philp's John Peter shook his head. fields at the back-across the ten-acre field that Mrs Bosenna carried last week-and a very tidy crop, I'm told, though but moderate long in the stalk. .. Well, there he was comin' across the stubble at a fine pace, too, with his coat 'pon his arm-when as I guess he spied me down in the road below and stopped short, danderin' about an' pretendin' to poke up weeds with his stick. Some newfashioned farmin',' thought I; 'weedin' stubble, and in August month too! I wonder who taught the Widow that trick' -for I won't be sure I reckernised your friend, not slap-off. But Cap'n Hunken it was: for to make certain I called and had a "But had a drink o' cider with Farmer Middlecoat, t'other side of the hill, an' he'd seen your friend frequent these last few weeks.. . There now, you don't seem pleased about it!— an' yet 'twould be a very good match for him, if it came off." "I daresay you mean something by that, Mr Philp," said Cai, staring at him, half angry and completely puzzled. "But be dashed if I know what you do mean.' "There now! And I reck'ned as you an' Cap'n Hunken had ne'er a secret you didn't share!" "Bias?" asked Cai slowly. "Who was talkin' of 'Bias?" "It takes 'em that way sometimes," said Mr Philp, wiping a rheumy eye. "An' the longer they puts it off the more you can't never tell which way it will take 'em. O' course, if Cap'n VOL. CXCII.-NO. MCLXI. Cai's head was whirling. He steadied himself to say, "You seem to take a lot of interest, Mr Philp, in other people's affairs." "Heaps," said Mr Philp. "I couldn' live without it." G |