ard THE
OTHER whistle it."

"She has not sung for ever so long," remarked Mr. Carden.

"And I think I can tell you why she is singing now: look at this
picture of Hope; I just told her I had a male patient afflicted with her
complaint, and the quick-witted creature asked me directly if I thought
this picture would do him any good. I said yes, and I'd take it to him."

"Come, doctor, that couldn't make her SING."

"Why not? Heart can speak to heart, even by a flower or a picture. The
separation was complete; sending this symbol has broken it a little,
and so she is singing. This is a lesson for us ruder and less subtle
spirits. Now mind, thwarted love seldom kills a busy man; but it often
kills an idle woman, and your daughter is an idle woman. He is an iron
pot, she is a china vase. Please don't hit them too hard with the hammer
of paternal wisdom, or you will dent my iron pot, and break your china
vase to atoms."

Having administered this warning, Dr. Amboyne went straight from
Woodbine Villa to Little's factory; but Little was still in London; he
had gone there to take out patents. Bayne promised to send the doctor a
line immediately on his return. Nevertheless, a fortnight elapsed,
and then Dr. Amboyne received a short, mysterious line to tell him Mr.
Little had come home, and would be all the better of a visit. On receipt
of this the doctor went at once to the works, and found young Little
lying on his carpenter's bench in a sort of gloomy apathy. "Hallo!" said
the doctor, in his cheerful way, "why what's the matter now?"

"I'm fairly crushed," groaned the inventor.

"And what has crushed you?"

"The roundabout swindle."

"There, now, he invents words as well as things. Come, tell me all about
the roundabout swindle."

"No, no; I haven't the heart left to go through it all again, even in
words. One would think an inventor was the enemy of the human race. Yes,
I will tell you; the sight of you has revived me a bit; it always does.
Well, then, you know I am driven to invention now; it is my only chance;
and, ever since Mr. Carden spoke to me, I have given my whole soul to
the best way of saw-grinding by machinery. The circular saws beat me for
a while, but I mastered them; see, there's the model. I'm going to burn
it this very afternoon. Well, a month ago, I took the other model--the
long-saw grinder--up to London, to patent the invention, as you
advised me. I thought I'd just have to exhibit the model, an