n then I don't know the answer.

But who wants to be foretold the weather? It is bad enough when it
comes, without our having the misery of knowing about it beforehand. The
prophet we like is the old man who, on the particularly gloomy-looking
morning of some day when we particularly want it to be fine, looks round
the horizon with a particularly knowing eye, and says:

"Oh no, sir, I think it will clear up all right. It will break all right
enough, sir."

"Ah, he knows", we say, as we wish him good-morning, and start off;
"wonderful how these old fellows can tell!"

And we feel an affection for that man which is not at all lessened by the
circumstances of its _not_ clearing up, but continuing to rain steadily
all day.

"Ah, well," we feel, "he did his best."

For the man that prophesies us bad weather, on the contrary, we entertain
only bitter and revengeful thoughts.

"Going to clear up, d'ye think?" we shout, cheerily, as we pass.

"Well, no, sir; I'm afraid it's settled down for the day," he replies,
shaking his head.

"Stupid old fool!" we mutter, "what's _he_ know about it?" And, if his
portent proves correct, we come back feeling still more angry against
him, and with a vague notion that, somehow or other, he has had something
to do with it.

It was too bright and sunny on this especial morning for George's
blood-curdling readings about "Bar. falling," "atmospheric disturbance,
passing in an oblique line over Southern Europe," and "pressure
increasing," to very much upset us: and so, finding that he could not
make us wretched, and was only wasting his time, he sneaked the cigarette
that I had carefully rolled up for myself, and went.

Then Harris and I, having finished up the few things left on the table,
carted out our luggage on to the doorstep, and waited for a cab.

[Picture: The luggage]

There seemed a good deal of luggage, when we put it all together. There
was the Gladstone and the small hand-bag, and the two hampers, and a
large roll of rugs, and some four or five overcoats and macintoshes, and
a few umbrellas, and then there was a melon by itself in a bag, because
it was too bulky to go in anywhere, and a couple of pounds of grapes in
another bag, and a Japanese paper umbrella, and a frying pan, which,
being too long to pack, we had wrapped round with brown paper.

It did look a lot, and Harris and I began to feel rather ashamed of it,
though why we should