r Isaac, make a bow to the young lady, and then, sir, go
through the sword exercise!"

The dog, put upon his tricks, delighted the children; and the poor
actor, though his heart lay in his breast like lead, did his best to
repay benevolence by mirth. Finally, much pleased, Mrs. Hartopp took
her husband's arm to depart. The children, on being separated from Sir
Isaac, began to cry. The Mayor interrupted his wife,--who, if left to
herself, would have scolded them into worse crying,--told Mary Anne that
he relied on her strong intellect to console her brother Tom; observed
to Tom that it was not like his manly nature to set an example of
weeping to his sister; and contrived thus to flatter their tears away in
a trice, and sent them forward in a race to the turnstile.

Waife and Sophy were alone in the cottage parlour, Mrs. Gooch, the
bailiff's wife, walking part of the way back with the good couple, in
order to show the Mayor a heifer who had lost appetite and taken to
moping. "Let us steal out into the back garden, my darling," said Waife.
"I see an arbour there, where I will compose myself with a pipe,--a
liberty I should not like to take indoors." They stepped across the
threshold, and gained the arbour, which stood at the extreme end of
the small kitchen-garden, and commanded a pleasant view of pastures
and cornfields, backed by the blue outline of distant hills. Afar were
faintly heard the laugh of the Mayor's happy children, now and then a
tinkling sheep-bell, or the tap of the woodpecker, unrepressed by the
hush of the Midmost summer, which stills the more tuneful choristers
amidst their coverts. Waife lighted his pipe, and smoked silently;
Sophy, resting her head on his bosom, silent also. She was exquisitely
sensitive to nature: the quiet beauty of all round her was soothing a
spirit lately troubled, and health came stealing gently back through
frame and through heart. At length she said softly, "We could be so
happy here, Grandfather! It cannot last, can it?"

"It is no use in this life, my dear," returned Waife, philosophizing,
"no use at all disturbing present happiness by asking, 'Can it last?'
To-day is man's, to-morrow his Maker's. But tell me frankly, do you
really dislike so much the idea of exhibiting? I don't mean as we did in
Mr. Rugge's show. I know you hate that; but in a genteel private way, as
the other night. You sigh! Out with it."

"I like what you like, Grandy."

"That's not true. I like to