r hours between slumber and waking, or mumble to himself
as I read the prints. But about the time of the equinoctial a great gale
came out of the south so strongly that the water rose in the river over
the boat landing; and the roof was torn from one of the curing-sheds.
The next morning dawned clear, and brittle, and blue. To my great
surprise, Mr. Carvel sent for me to walk with him about the place, that
he might see the damage with his own eyes. A huge walnut had fallen
across the drive, and when he came upon it he stopped abruptly.

"Old friend!" he cried, "have you succumbed? After all these years have
you dropped from the weight of a blow?" He passed his hand caressingly
along the trunk, and scarce ever had I seen him so affected. In truth,
for the instant I thought him deranged. He raised his cane above his
shoulder and struck the bark so heavily that the silver head sunk deep
into the wood. "Look you, Richard," he said, the water coming into his
eyes, "look you, the heart of it is gone, lad; and when the heart is
rotten 'tis time for us to go. That walnut was a life friend, my son.
We have grown together," he continued, turning from me to the giant and
brushing his cheeks, "but by God's good will we shall not die so, for my
heart is still as young as the days when you were sprouting."

And he walked back to the house more briskly than he had come, refusing,
for the first time, my arm. And from that day, I say, he began to mend.
The lacing of red came again to his cheeks, and before we went back to
town he had walked with me to Master Dingley's tavern on the highroad,
and back.

We moved into Marlboro' Street the first part of November. I had seen my
lady off for England, wearing my faded flowers, the panniers of the fine
gentleman in a neglected pile at her cabin door. But not once had she
deigned to write me. It was McAndrews who told me of her safe arrival.
In Annapolis rumours were a-flying of conquests she had already made. I
found Betty Tayloe had had a letter, filled with the fashion in caps and
gowns, and the mention of more than one noble name. All of this being,
for unknown reasons, sacred, I was read only part of the postscript, in
which I figured: "The London Season was done almost before we arrived,"
so it ran. "We had but the Opportunity to pay our Humble Respects to
their Majesties; and appear at a few Drum-Majors and Garden Fetes. Now
we are off to Brighthelmstone, and thence, so Papa says, to Sp