ting for you. The stars are in the
ascendant.

_Peter._ I thought they were up in the sky.

_Nelly._ Exactly. Now let me read the lines on your face. The finest
gentleman in the land would give half his fortune for those lines.

_Peter._ Then pray, what is my fortune, good woman?

_Nelly._ One that requires gold, with which to cross my hand; and then
it would be too cheap.

_Peter._ Gold! Won't a shilling do?

_Nelly._ I wish you good-day, Sir; I thought you were a gentleman.

_Peter._ Well, so I am; but gentlemen are not always very flush of
guineas. However, I have one here, and it shall go for my fortune.
[_Gives money._

_Nelly._ The planet, Georgium Sidum, says, that you are the son of the
steward, and your name is Bargrove.

_Peter._ Now, that is surprising!

_Nelly._ But Georgium Sidum tells not the truth.

_Peter._ Do the stars ever lie?

_Nelly._ O, the new ones do. They have not been long in the business.
But the old ones never fail.

_Peter._ Astonishing! and only supposed to be Bargrove's son. Go on,
good woman, go on. What do the old planets say?

_Nelly._ Nay, I must stop a little. That is all I can see just now; but
more will be revealed to me by-and-bye. What does Artemidorus say in his
ninety-ninth chapter, written in double Chaldean before letters were
invented?

_Peter._ I don't know. What does he say?

_Nelly._ That you must gain great truths by little ones. So you must
tell me all you know about yourself, and I shall be able to find out
more.

_Peter._ I was educated with Mr Edward Etheridge; and, when our
education was completed, he went into the army and I was sent home to my
father's--that is--to Mr Bargrove's.

_Nelly._ I understand.

_Peter._ This Mr Bargrove proposed that I should accompany him every day
to obtain a knowledge of agriculture, and employ my evenings in keeping
the accounts, that I might be able to succeed him in his office of
steward.

_Nelly._ Exactly--but the stars tell me that you did not like it.

_Peter._ Couldn't bear it. Why, my boots, which I am so particular in
having well polished, were so loaded with clay the very first time, that
I could hardly lift my legs, and I stumbled into a ditch filled with
stinging nettles; so I gave it up, and the old gentleman constantly
swears that I am no son of his.

_Nelly._ Did not I, the priestess of the stars, tell you so?

_Peter._ But if I am no son of his, the question is, "Whose son am I?"

_Nelly