your line at all. Let us go up to the house. Our job is done, and I
think Master Neptune may pound away in vain. I have got a new range in
the kitchen now, partly of my own invention; you can roast, or bake, or
steam, or stew, or frizzle kabobs--all by turning a screw. And not only
that, but you can keep things hot, piping hot, and ripening, as it were,
better than when they first were done. Instead of any burned iron taste,
or scum on the gravy, or clottiness, they mellow by waiting, and make
their own sauce. If I ever have time I shall patent this invention; why,
you may burn brick-dust in it, Bath-brick, hearth-stone, or potsherds!
At any hour of the day or night, while the sea is in this condition, I
may want my dinner; and there we have it. We say grace immediately,
and down we sit. Let us take it by surprise, if it can be taken so. Up
through my chief drive, instanter! I think that I scarcely ever felt
more hungry. The thought of that range always sets me off. And one of
its countless beauties is the noble juicy fragrance."

Major Hockin certainly possessed the art--so meritorious in a host--of
making people hungry; and we mounted the hill with alacrity, after
passing his letter-box, which reminded me of the mysterious lady. He
pointed to "Desolate Hole," as he called it, and said that he believed
she was there still, though she never came out now to watch their house.
And a man of dark and repelling aspect had been seen once or twice by
his workmen, during the time of their night relays, rapidly walking
toward Desolate Hole. How any one could live in such a place, with the
roar and the spray of the sea, as it had been, at the very door, and
through the windows, some people might understand, but not the Major.

Good Mrs. Hockin received me with her usual warmth and kindness, and
scolded me for having failed to write more to her, as all people seem
to do when conscious of having neglected that duty themselves. Then she
showed me her thimble-finger, which certainly was a little swollen;
and then she poured forth her gratitude for her many blessings, as she
always did after any little piece of grumbling. And I told her that
if at her age I were only a quarter as pleasant and sweet of temper, I
should consider myself a blessing to any man.

After dinner my host produced the locket, which he had kept for the
purpose of showing it to the artist's son in Paris, and which he admired
so intensely that I wished it were mi