ed that I might endow others who had the qualifications.

"In short, become a mulch cow for sucking scientists," I replied, and
broke off the conversation.

Bastin's idea was, first, that I should teach in a Sunday School;
secondly, that if this career did not satisfy all my aspirations, I
might be ordained and become a missionary.

On my rejection of this brilliant advice, he remarked that the only
other thing he could think of was that I should get married and have a
large family, which might possibly advantage the nation and ultimately
enrich the Kingdom of Heaven, though of such things no one could
be quite sure. At any rate, he was certain that at present I was in
practice neglecting my duty, whatever it might be, and in fact one of
those cumberers of the earth who, he observed in the newspaper he took
in and read when he had time, were "very happily named--the idle rich."

"Which reminds me," he added, "that the clothing-club finances are in
a perfectly scandalous condition; in fact, it is L25 in debt, an amount
that as the squire of the parish I consider it incumbent on you to make
good, not as a charity but as an obligation."

"Look here, my friend," I said, ignoring all the rest, "will you answer
me a plain question? Have you found marriage such a success that you
consider it your duty to recommend it to others? And if you have, why
have you not got the large family of which you speak?"

"Of course not," he replied with his usual frankness. "Indeed, it is in
many ways so disagreeable that I am convinced it must be right and for
the good of all concerned. As regards the family I am sure I do not
know, but Sarah never liked babies, which perhaps has something to do
with it."

Then he sighed, adding, "You see, Arbuthnot, we have to take things as
we find them in this world and hope for a better."

"Which is just what I am trying to do, you unilluminating old donkey!" I
exclaimed, and left him there shaking his head over matters in general,
but I think principally over Sarah.

By the way, I think that the villagers recognised this good lady's
vinegary nature. At least, they used to call her "Sour Sal."

Chapter III. Natalie

Now what Bastin had said about marriage stuck in my mind as his
blundering remarks had a way of doing, perhaps because of the grain
of honest truth with which they were often permeated. Probably in my
position it was more or less my duty to marry. But here came the rub;
I had