ebeian relative, after
the manner of the enterprising person who opened a 'heraldry office' in
Sydney about fifty years ago, and announced his readiness to provide
clients with reliable information of their ancestors, together with
suitable coats of arms.

True, Piper is not a name of much promise, but there _had_ been a
Count Piper somewhere or other some centuries ago, and the very
rarity of the name proved that every Piper must come from one common
stock. Fired by this generous idea, Mr. Cavendish gave himself up to
its pursuit with enthusiasm. He would spend whole hours in the
Melbourne Library poring over books of heraldry. Every chronological
or biographical document bearing upon the age in which Count Piper
was supposed to have lived was made the subject of long and minute
examination. When the monthly mail day came round there would sure
to be a budget of letters in Mr. Cavendish's handwriting, addressed
to the different colleges and societies at home and abroad, who were
to help in extracting all Pipers of any importance from the oblivion
in which they had hitherto been suffered to remain.

Mr. Piper is at length informed of the progress of the inquiries, but
shows a provoking obtuseness and indifference concerning them.

'I am--hem!--I am pursuing a task of the utmost consequence to your
family interests,' Mr. Cavendish had told him one day. 'In fact, my
dear sir, I am engaged in a work of no less moment than that of
reconstructing your family tree.'

'My what-do-you-call-it tree?' exclaimed Mr. Piper, with a hazy
idea that Mr. Cavendish had been trying some unwarrantable
experiments upon his lemon and orange bushes. 'Don't you take and
put any rubbish in the garden. I've got a new lot of guano, and I
don't want it meddled with.'

'Guano!' echoed Mr. Cavendish, with a tone of the most withering
compassion. 'I'm afraid you don't quite apprehend my meaning. I am
not alluding to coarse material facts at all. I am speaking of a
genealogical tree--a ge-ne-a-lo-gi-cal tree, you understand? I am
trying to rescue your ancestors from the dust of oblivion. I am....'

'You'd better leave 'em alone,' interrupted Mr. Piper, with the
sulky accent of one whose suspicions have not been altogether
allayed. '_They_ won't do you any good--no more than they've done
for me. You've got some of your own,