elves." Nor, turn which way he would, could he find anything to
comfort him. Simply because he was so fearfully looking for it, he found
it--the thing that had for its theme the wretchedness that might be
expected from the presence of a third person in the new home.

Poor William! Everywhere he met it--the hint, the word, the story, the
song, even; and always it added its mite to the woeful whole. Even the
hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its sting for him; and, to make his
cup quite full, he chanced to remember one day what Marie had said when
he had suggested that she and Cyril come to the Strata to live: "No; I
think young folks should begin by themselves."

Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. Like a lost spirit he
wandered from room to room, touching this, fingering that. For long
minutes he would stand before some picture, or some treasured bit of old
mahogany, as if to stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was soon
to be no more. At other times, like a man without a home, he would
go out into the Common or the Public Garden and sit for hours on some
bench--thinking.

All this could have but one ending, of course. Before the middle of
August William summoned Pete to his rooms.

"Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week," he began nonchalantly. His
voice sounded as if moving were a pleasurable circumstance that occurred
in his life regularly once a month. "I'd like you to begin to pack up
these things, please, to-morrow."

The old servant's mouth fell open.

"You're goin' to--to what, sir?" he stammered.

"Move--_move_, I said." William spoke with unusual harshness.

Pete wet his lips.

"You mean you've sold the old place, sir?--that we--we ain't goin' to
live here no longer?"

"Sold? Of course not! _I'm_ going to move away; not you."

If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's
voice, he would not have been so grieved--or, rather, he would have
been grieved for a different reason. As it was he could only falter
miserably:

"_You_ are goin' to move away from here!"

"Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? One would think a body never
moved before."

"They didn't--not you, sir."

William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen. With stern
deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the
valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at
once. It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous
hand.