a heavy load uphill? That
his mind may grow tranquil, and his ears train forward, his eyes lose
their nervous contraction, and a fine sense of leisure pervade him. But
if he has a long hill to surmount, with none to restrain his ardour, the
sense of duty grows stronger than any consideration of his own good,
and the best man has not the conscience needful to understand half his
emotions.

Thus the sense of duty kept Blyth Scudamore full of misery. Every day
carried him further from the all-important issues; and the chance of
returning in time grew faint, and fainter at every sunset. The kindly
Dutchman and his wife were aware of some burden on his mind, because of
its many groaning sallies while astray from judgment. But as soon as his
wits were clear again, and his body fit to second them, Blyth saw that
he could not crave their help, against the present interests of their
own land. Holland was at enmity with England, not of its own accord,
but under the pressure of the man who worked so hard the great European
mangle. Captain Van Oort had picked up some English, and his wife could
use tongue and ears in French, while Scudamore afforded himself and them
some little diversion by attempts in Dutch. Being of a wonderfully happy
nature--for happiness is the greatest wonder in this world--he could not
help many a wholesome laugh, in spite of all the projects of Napoleon.

Little things seldom jump into bigness, till a man sets his microscope
at them. According to the everlasting harmonies, Blyth had not got a
penny, because he had not got a pocket to put it in. A pocketful of
money would have sent him to the bottom of the sea, that breezy April
night, when he drifted for hours, with eyes full of salt, twinkling
feeble answer to the twinkle of the stars. But he had made himself light
of his little cash left, in his preparation for a slow decease,
and perhaps the fish had paid tribute with it to the Caesar of this
Millennium. Captain Van Oort was a man of his inches in length, but in
breadth about one-third more, being thickened and spread by the years
that do this to a body containing a Christian mind. "You will never get
out of them," said Mrs. Van Oort, when he got into her husband's large
smallclothes; but he who had often jumped out of a tub felt no
despair about jumping out of two. In every way Scudamore hoped for the
best--which is the only right course for a man who has done his own
best, and is helpless.

Keeping