when _she_ began to get old and infirm?
This seemed at first to startle him. He glanced uneasily at his little
wife, as if it had never before occurred to him that she _could_ grow
old. Then, after staring at me a moment in a half angry manner, as
though offended at my having suggested so disagreeable an idea, he
seemed all at once to recover himself, remarking quickly, that _he_
should be old then, too, and that they could both be buried together.
This consolatory reflection seemed completely to neutralise the effect
of my last attack, and Mowno's countenance resumed its habitual
expression of calm and somewhat stolid placidity.

"Baffled, but not discouraged, I next strove, by drawing an imaginary
picture of Olla and himself in their old age, surrounded by their grown
up children, to show how happy and beautiful the relation between the
child and the aged parent might be. I summoned up all my rhetorical
powers, and sketched what I conceived to be a perfect model of an
affectionate and dutiful Angatanese son. After clothing him with all
the virtues and accomplishments of the savage character, I proceeded to
endue him with that filial affection, whose beauty and power it was my
chief object to illustrate. I represented him as loving his father and
mother all the more tenderly on account of the infirmities of age now
stealing over them. Upon the arm of this affectionate son, the
white-haired Mowno supported himself; when at morning and evening he
went forth to take his accustomed walk in the groves. He it was, who
brought home daily to his aged mother, the ripest fruits, and the
freshest flowers. His smiling and happy countenance was the light of
their dwelling; his cheerful voice, its sweetest music. I was
proceeding thus in quite an affecting strain, as it seemed to me,
(though I must in honesty confess that Mowno appeared to be less moved
by it than myself; and somewhat cooled my enthusiasm by giving a great
yawn in the midst of one of the most touching passages), when Olla, who
had been listening with moistened eyes, gently stole her arm around her
husband's neck, and murmured a few words in his ear. Whether it was my
pathetic eloquence, or Olla's caress, that melted his hitherto obdurate
heart, I will not pretend to say, but it is certain that he now yielded
the point, and promised that Malola should be permitted to live. `At
least,' he added, after a moment's reflection, `as long as she can see,
and wal