arkling water, in which hundreds of the finny brood were disporting
themselves, and then I thought what a fine thing it was to be a fish on
such a fine summer day, and I wished myself a fish, or at least amongst
the fishes; and then I looked at my hands again, and then, bending over
the water, I looked at my face in the crystal mirror, and started when I
saw it, for it looked squalid and miserable.

Forthwith I started up, and said to myself, I should like to bathe and
cleanse myself from the squalor produced by my late hard life and by Mrs.
Herne's drow. I wonder if there is any harm in bathing on the Sabbath
day. I will ask Winifred when she comes home; in the mean time I will
bathe, provided I can find a fitting place.

But the brook, though a very delightful place for fish to disport in, was
shallow, and by no means adapted for the recreation of so large a being
as myself; it was, moreover, exposed, though I saw nobody at hand, nor
heard a single human voice or sound. Following the winding of the brook
I left the meadow, and, passing through two or three thickets, came to a
place where between lofty banks the water ran deep and dark, and there I
bathed, imbibing new tone and vigour into my languid and exhausted frame.

Having put on my clothes, I returned by the way I had come to my vehicle
beneath the oak tree. From thence, for want of something better to do, I
strolled up the hill, on the top of which stood the farm-house; it was a
large and commodious building built principally of stone, and seeming of
some antiquity, with a porch, on either side of which was an oaken bench.
On the right was seated a young woman with a book in her hand, the same
who had brought the tray to my friends and myself.

"Good day," said I, "pretty damsel, sitting in the farm porch."

"Good day," said the girl, looking at me for a moment, and then fixing
her eyes on her book.

"That's a nice book you are reading," said I.

The girl looked at me with surprise. "How do you know what book it is?"
said she.

"How do I know--never mind; but a nice book it is--no love, no
fortune-telling in it."

The girl looked at me half offended. "Fortune-telling!" said she, "I
should think not. But you know nothing about it;" and she bent her head
once more over the book.

"I tell you what, young person," said I, "I know all about that book;
what will you wager that I do not?"

"I never wager," said the girl.

"Shall I tell you the nam