this
manuscript as far as the last chapter. Both the captain and myself were
attired as usual; I a la Parisien and he a la Stunin'tun. A small ship,
very ingeniously made, and very accurately rigged, lay on the floor,
with "Walrus" written on her stern. As my bewildered eye caught a
glimpse of this vessel, Noah informed me that, having nothing to do
except to look after my welfare (a polite way of characterizing his ward
over my person, as I afterward found), he had employed his leisure in
constructing the toy.

All was inexplicable. There was really the smell of meat. I had also
that peculiar sensation of fulness which is apt to succeed a dinner, and
a dish well filled with bones was in plain view. I took up one of the
latter, in order to ascertain its genus. The captain kindly informed
me that it was the remains of a pig, which had cost him a great deal of
trouble to obtain, as the French viewed the act of eating a pig as very
little less heinous than the act of eating a child. Suspicions began to
trouble me, and I now turned to look for the head and reproachful eye of
the brigadier.

The head was where I had just before seen it, visible over the top of a
trunk; but it was so far raised as to enable me to see that it was still
planted on its shoulders. A second look enabled me to distinguish the
meditative, philosophical countenance of Dr. Reasono, who was still in
the hussar-jacket and petticoat, though, being in the house, he had very
properly laid aside the Spanish hat with bedraggled feathers.

A movement followed in the antechamber, and a hurried conversation, in
a low, earnest tone, succeeded. The captain disappeared, and joined
the speakers. I listened intently, but could not catch any of the
intonations of a dialect founded on the decimal principle. Presently the
door opened, and Dr. Etherington stood before me!

The good divine regarded me long and earnestly. Tears filled his eyes,
and, stretching out both hands towards me, he asked:

"Do you know me, Jack?"

"Know you, dear sir!--Why should I not?"

"And do you forgive me, dear boy?"

"For what, sir?--I am sure, I have most reason to demand your pardon for
a thousand follies."

"Ah! the letter--the unkind--the inconsiderate letter!"

"I have not had a letter from you, sir, in a twelvemonth; the last was
anything but unkind."

"Though Anna wrote, it was at my dictation."

I passed a hand over my brow, and had dawnings of the truth.

"Anna?"