e young master, sir? Ah, yes, yes; I thought so. My girl
Cristy said she saw the young master last night. Thank you kindly, sir;
I'm pretty well, considering how I've fallen away in my flesh. I have got
a fine appetite, but somehow or other, my meals don't show on me. You
will excuse my receiving you in the kitchen, sir; it's the best room we
have. Did Cristy tell you how badly we are off here for repairs? You
being our landlord, we look to you to help us. We are falling to pieces,
as it were, on this old side of the house. There's first drains----"

He proceeded to reckon up the repairs, counting with his fleshless thumb
on his skinny fingers, when he was interrupted by a curious succession of
sounds which began with whining, and ended with scratching at the cottage
door.

In a minute after, the door was opened from without. A brown dog, of the
companionable retriever breed, ran in and fawned upon old Toller. Cristel
followed (from the kitchen garden), with a basket of vegetables on her
arm. Unlike the river and the cottage, she gained by being revealed in
the brilliant sunlight. I now saw, in their full beauty, the luster of
her brown eyes, the warm rosiness of her dark complexion, the delightful
vivacity of expression which was the crowning charm of her face. She
paused confusedly in the doorway, and tried to resist me when I insisted
on relieving her of the basket.

"Mr. Gerard," she protested, "you are treating me as if I was a young
lady. What would they say at the great house, if they knew you had done
that?"

My answer would no doubt have assumed the form of a foolish compliment,
if her father had not spared her that infliction. He returned to the
all-important question, the question of repairs.

"You see, sir, it's no use speaking to the bailiff. Saving your presence,
he's a miser with his master's money. He says, 'All right,' and he does
nothing. There's first, as I told you just now, the truly dreadful state
of the drains----"

I tried to stop him by promising to speak to the bailiff myself. On
hearing this good news, Mr. Toller's gratitude became ungovernable: he
was more eager than ever, and more eloquent than ever, in returning to
the repairs.

"And then, sir, there's the oven. They do call bread the staff of life.
It's a burnt staff at one time, and a clammy staff at another, in our
domestic experience. Satisfy yourself, sir; do please cross the kitchen
and look with your own eyes at the state, th