s some mischief still, for idle hands to do."'

'Egad, Doctor,' returned Mr. Wickfield, 'if Doctor Watts knew mankind,
he might have written, with as much truth, "Satan finds some mischief
still, for busy hands to do." The busy people achieve their full share
of mischief in the world, you may rely upon it. What have the people
been about, who have been the busiest in getting money, and in getting
power, this century or two? No mischief?'

'Jack Maldon will never be very busy in getting either, I expect,' said
Doctor Strong, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

'Perhaps not,' said Mr. Wickfield; 'and you bring me back to the
question, with an apology for digressing. No, I have not been able
to dispose of Mr. Jack Maldon yet. I believe,' he said this with some
hesitation, 'I penetrate your motive, and it makes the thing more
difficult.'

'My motive,' returned Doctor Strong, 'is to make some suitable provision
for a cousin, and an old playfellow, of Annie's.'

'Yes, I know,' said Mr. Wickfield; 'at home or abroad.'

'Aye!' replied the Doctor, apparently wondering why he emphasized those
words so much. 'At home or abroad.'

'Your own expression, you know,' said Mr. Wickfield. 'Or abroad.'

'Surely,' the Doctor answered. 'Surely. One or other.'

'One or other? Have you no choice?' asked Mr. Wickfield.

'No,' returned the Doctor.

'No?' with astonishment.

'Not the least.'

'No motive,' said Mr. Wickfield, 'for meaning abroad, and not at home?'

'No,' returned the Doctor.

'I am bound to believe you, and of course I do believe you,' said Mr.
Wickfield. 'It might have simplified my office very much, if I had known
it before. But I confess I entertained another impression.'

Doctor Strong regarded him with a puzzled and doubting look,
which almost immediately subsided into a smile that gave me great
encouragement; for it was full of amiability and sweetness, and there
was a simplicity in it, and indeed in his whole manner, when the
studious, pondering frost upon it was got through, very attractive and
hopeful to a young scholar like me. Repeating 'no', and 'not the least',
and other short assurances to the same purport, Doctor Strong jogged
on before us, at a queer, uneven pace; and we followed: Mr. Wickfield,
looking grave, I observed, and shaking his head to himself, without
knowing that I saw him.

The schoolroom was a pretty large hall, on the quietest side of the
house, confronted by the stately stare of so