or it. You told me once that
their eyes were so pretty and plaintive, it was a shame to kill them. I
always try to please you, so I thought I would let them live.--Yes,
thank you, I have brought back more health than I took away: I may be
able now to stand the fatigues of business till Thanksgiving.--O,
Hartman? I couldn't bring him along, you know: where is your sense of
propriety? I advised him to stay up there where he is safe, and not
tempt the shafts and arrows any more. What, I 'haven't done anything
then, after all?' O, haven't I! Jane, you are worse than a serpent's
tooth: if Lear had been in my place, he would have talked about a
thankless sister. It has been a weary, toilsome, painful task, and few
men could have carried it through to so happy an end. And when I come
back hungering for sympathy--I told you what my nature was--you meet me
with cold words and suspicious looks. It is enough to make one weep, and
long for the silent grave. If it were Hartman, you would do the weeping,
no doubt. Yet that man, whom you thus unnaturally set above your
brother--you have no idea of his harshness, his violence, his embittered
prejudice and obstinacy; nor of the patience and gentleness and
persuasive force with which I expelled the demons that possessed him,
and brought him to his right mind. O, he has had an overhauling; he will
take care how he does it again. But he is all right now."

"I wonder at that, after his being in your hands for a week. Your tender
mercies were cruel, I fear. What does Clarice say to this? Is she
satisfied?"

"She ought to be, but she says nothing at all; couldn't take in the
magnitude of my news at once, most likely. Yet I took pains to break it
to her delicately, and with light touches of humor, to relieve any
strain there might be."

"Yes, soothed her nerves as with a nutmeg-grater, no doubt. You will
serenade her next with tin pans and fish-horns, and think that a
delicate attention. Brother, Clarice does not share your peculiar view
of humor, nor do I. Mabel tries to comprehend it and to catch your tone,
as is her melancholy duty; but it is hard work for her. Well, what does
Mr. Hartman say?--Don't tell me anything that is private, or belongs to
Clarice alone."

"O, you may hear most of it. He says all sorts of things--anything you
like. You see he can't be trusted, or trust himself, any longer, so I
have full power to represent him."

"That is definite, and convenient for you, what