diverting incident about a cherry-pie. And always, at decent
intervals, she would exclaim--

"Did you ever see anything more lovely?"

To which the Admiral as religiously would reply--

"Really, I never did."

Indeed the scene was, as Mrs. Goodwyn-Sandys, in another boat,
observed, "Like a poet's dream"--a remark at which Mr. Moggridge
blushed very much. I wish I could linger and describe with amorous
precision the bright talk, the glories of the day, each bend and
vista of the river which I have loved from childhood; but amid the
stress of events now crowding with epic vehemence on Troy, the Muse
must hasten. Fain would she dally over the disembarkation, the
feast, the manner in which Admiral Buzza carved the chicken-pie, and
his humorous allusion to the merry thought; or dwell upon the salad
compounded by Mr. Moggridge, the spider that was found in it, and the
conundrum composed upon that singular occurrence; or loiter to tell
how Miss Lavinia upset the claret cup over the Vicar's coat-tails,
and, in her confusion, said it "did not signify," which was very
amusing. On this, and more, would she blithely discourse, did not
sterner themes invite her.

It happened that on this particular morning Mr. Fogo had been
restless beyond his wont. For a full hour he had wandered on the
beach, as Caleb expressed it, "Back'ards an' forrards, like Boscas'le
Fair." He had taken up mallet and chisel; had set them down at the
end of half an hour for his paintbox, and ruined a well-meaning
sketch of the previous day; had deserted this in turn for another
ramble on the beach, and finally returned, with a helpless look, to
Caleb, who sat whistling and splicing a rope upon the little quay.

"Hurried in mind, sir, like Pomeroy's cat," suggested he
sympathetically.

"I have no acquaintance with the animal you mention," said his
master.

"I reckon 'twas she as got killed by care, sir. I niver knawed
mysel' but wan animal as got downright put-goin' i' that way, an'
that were a hen."

"A hen?"

"Iss, sir. Et happen'd up to Penhellick, the las' year I stayed
'long wi' Lawyer Mennear. 'Twas a reg'lar fool-body, this hen--a
black Minorcy she were; but no egg iver laid were fuller o' meat than
she o' good-feelin'; an' prenciple! she'd enuff prenciple to stock a
prayer-meetin'. But high prenciple in a buffllehead's like a
fish-bone i' the throat--useful, but out o' place.

"Well, sir, th' ould Mennear wan day bought a baker'