f the scarlet feathers of the flaming bird; and now that
the house was quite safe from attack, and the mark on my forehead was
healing, I was begged, over and over again, to go and see Ruth, and make
all things straight, and pay for the gorgeous plumage. This last I was
very desirous to do, that I might know the price of it, having made
a small bet on the subject with Annie; and having held counsel with
myself, whether or not it were possible to get something of the kind for
Lorna, of still more distinguished appearance. Of course she could not
wear scarlet as yet, even if I had wished it; but I believed that people
of fashion often wore purple for mourning; purple too was the royal
colour, and Lorna was by right a queen; therefore I was quite resolved
to ransack Uncle Reuben's stores, in search of some bright purple bird,
if nature had kindly provided one.

All this, however, I kept to myself, intending to trust Ruth Huckaback,
and no one else in the matter. And so, one beautiful spring morning,
when all the earth was kissed with scent, and all the air caressed with
song, up the lane I stoutly rode, well armed, and well provided.

Now though it is part of my life to heed, it is no part of my tale to
tell, how the wheat was coming on. I reckon that you, who read this
story, after I am dead and gone (and before that none shall read it),
will say, 'Tush! What is his wheat to us? We are not wheat: we are human
beings: and all we care for is human doings.' This may be very good
argument, and in the main, I believe that it is so. Nevertheless, if a
man is to tell only what he thought and did, and not what came around
him, he must not mention his own clothes, which his father and mother
bought for him. And more than my own clothes to me, ay, and as much as
my own skin, are the works of nature round about, whereof a man is the
smallest.

And now I will tell you, although most likely only to be laughed at,
because I cannot put it in the style of Mr. Dryden--whom to compare to
Shakespeare! but if once I begin upon that, you will never hear the last
of me--nevertheless, I will tell you this; not wishing to be rude, but
only just because I know it; the more a man can fling his arms (so
to say) round Nature's neck, the more he can upon her bosom, like an
infant, lie and suck,--the more that man shall earn the trust and love
of all his fellow men.

In this matter is no jealousy (when the man is dead); because thereafter
all othe