that he ever means to marry any vun
among 'em. And wot other man can say the same, Sammy?"

"They are not much alike, are they?" said Miss Mayberry. "I think if
Dickens could read my translation he would not in the least recognize
it. The fact is, Mr. Tippengray, I do not believe that your method of
Greek pickling will answer to preserve our fiction for the future. It
may do for histories and scientific work, but when you come to dialect
and vernacular, if you once get it into Greek you can never get it back
again as it used to be."

"That will be a great pity," said Mr. Tippengray, "for fiction makes up
such a large part of our literature. And it does seem that good English
might be properly translated into good Greek."

"Oh, it isn't the translation," said Ida; "that is all easy enough: it's
the resurrection back into the original condition. Look at the prophet
Enoch. He was translated, but if it were possible now to bring him back
again, he would not be the same Enoch, you know."

"One might infer from that simile," said the Greek scholar, smiling,
"that when a bit of English gets into Greek it goes to heaven, and would
better stay there. Perhaps you are right in what you say about fiction.
Anyway it is very pleasant to talk with one who can appreciate this
subject, and reason sensibly about it."

Mr. Tippengray shut up his book and put it back into his pocket, while
his companion tore her translation from her note-book and scattered it
in little bits along the road.

"I would not like it," she said, "if any one but you were to read that
and know I did it."

Mr. Tippengray's eyes and Mr. Tippengray's heart turned towards her.
Those words, "any one but you," touched him deeply. He had a feeling as
if he were being translated into something better than his original
self, and that this young woman was doing it. He wished to express this
in some way, and to say a good many other things which came crowding
upon his mind, but he expressed nothing and said none of these things.
An exclamation from Ida caused him to look in front of him, and there
was the spring wagon with the horses standing still.

Mrs. Cristie turned round and called to them:

"Mr. Beam says that there are some by-roads just ahead of us, and as he
was afraid you might turn into one and get lost, he thought it better to
wait for you."

"Nonsense!" cried Miss Mayberry; "there was no danger that we would turn
into any by-ways. The road is p