sent her manuscript without having looked it over.
She told this mishap to the Lady, as something she was dreadfully ashamed
of and could not possibly account for. It had cost her a sharp note from
the publisher, and would be as good as a dinner to some half-starved
Bohemian of the critical press.

The Lady listened to all this very thoughtfully, looking at her with
great tenderness, and said, "My poor child!" Not another word then, but
her silence meant a good deal.

When a man holds his tongue it does not signify much. But when a woman
dispenses with the office of that mighty member, when she sheathes her
natural weapon at a trying moment, it means that she trusts to still more
formidable enginery; to tears it may be, a solvent more powerful than
that with which Hannibal softened the Alpine rocks, or to the heaving
bosom, the sight of which has subdued so many stout natures, or, it may
be, to a sympathizing, quieting look which says "Peace, be still!" to the
winds and waves of the little inland ocean, in a language that means more
than speech.

While these matters were going on the Master and I had many talks on many
subjects. He had found me a pretty good listener, for I had learned that
the best way of getting at what was worth having from him was to wind him
up with a question and let him run down all of himself. It is easy to
turn a good talker into an insufferable bore by contradicting him, and
putting questions for him to stumble over,--that is, if he is not a bore
already, as "good talkers" are apt to be, except now and then.

We had been discussing some knotty points one morning when he said all at
once:

--Come into my library with me. I want to read you some new passages
from an interleaved copy of my book. You haven't read the printed part
yet. I gave you a copy of it, but nobody reads a book that is given to
him. Of course not. Nobody but a fool expects him to. He reads a
little in it here and there, perhaps, and he cuts all the leaves if he
cares enough about the writer, who will be sure to call on him some day,
and if he is left alone in his library for five minutes will have hunted
every corner of it until he has found the book he sent,--if it is to be
found at all, which does n't always happen, if there's a penal colony
anywhere in a garret or closet for typographical offenders and vagrants.

--What do you do when you receive a book you don't want, from the
author?--said I.

--Give hi