landscape seemed to have been brushed over that
morning with a strong solution of Indian ink.
The bold headlands struck out here and there
amongst the mists, in huge fantastic shapes,
which would have made poor Turner beside
himself with joy. The rain came down in one
determined stream, as though Aquarius had
commenced a fresh pitcher, having previously
drilled larger holes in his cullender. A large
pool was gaining ground at the foot of the
verandah, and it was evident that we should soon
have to consider the question of our main
drainage, and, perhaps, to carry out a
breakwater in front of the dining-room window.

"It's a wet day," said Mrs. Pendraggles.

We had just finished breakfast, so I got up
and went to the window, as though to consider
that statement. I was conscious that my walk
to the window was rather strutty than otherwise.
I was beginning to feel that, after all,
thanks to our native climate, Littermere and
Swilsbury couldn't possibly come in such
weather.

"It is a wet day, my dear," I replied, smiling
waggishly at the increasing pool before me, as
though it were entirely of my own construction
—" it is a wet day! I wonder now what
Littermere, who seems so resolved upon doing
everything, would do on such an occasion as
this?"

At this moment there came mingling with
the sighing wind across the laurels a hoarse
plaintive sound resembling "aggles." I looked
at Mrs. P. " Now, do you know what that noise
is, my dear?" I asked, calmly. Mrs. P. who is
of a superstitious turn, shook her head and
turned pale. " Perhaps now, my love," I
continued, "you may be disposed to look upon
it as the last gurgling moan of the drowning
postman, or possibly you may prefer to
consider it as a fiendish howl of the spirit of the
storm. But that horrible sound is nothing less
than the voice of Swilsbury trying to shout out
my name, and the better half of that name is at
this moment scudding across the hills, in the
embraces of the tempest." " Draggles" came the
voice again. It was much louder this time, and
the owner of it was no doubt rapidly nearing the
house. There was evidently nothing to be done
but to submit cheerfully to my fate, and to go
and open the door with a smiling countenance.

"Pendraggles!—Pendraggles!" The voice
sounded now close upon us; I saw there was
no time to be lost, so, seizing my hat, I rushed
out desperately into the storm.

It was Swilsbury, a trifle stouter, perhaps,
and somewhat older-looking no doubt, but the
same genuine Swilsbury still. He had just
reached the porch when I came out, and was
evidently about to give a pull at the bell, which
would have sent the nervous cook into fits, and
have added another to her long list of kitchen
casualties, when my presence interrupted him.

"Hollo! Pendraggles," he shouted out, taking
his dripping hand from the bell-pull, and grasping
my fist in a kind of spongy vice, which
sent out little squirts of rain between his fingers,
" how d'ye do, old fellow ?" And he gave
himself a shake like a Newfoundland dog, which
covered me with spray. " I say," he rattled on,
" what the deuce do you mean by having your
gate so far away from the house, in a climate
like this, and why, in the name of Chubb, do
you keep it locked ? Here's Long Litter down
here in the dog-cart, bawling himself hoarse,
and swearing that he will either go at the gate
full tilt, or try a leap at the iron paling."

"My dear Swilsbury," I replied, gravely
wiping the spray out of my eyes, " go back like
a good fellow and tell Littlemere that I am
coming immediately ; the gate is locked at night to
keep out the donkeys, but, as you very properly
say, why, in the name of Chubb, do I keep it
locked when, after all my precaution, you can
come in ?"

I flattered myself that this was rather a
hit at Swilsbury, but the honest fellow never
felt it in the least. He turned back again down
the drive in the brightest humour possible,
walking persistently through the deepest
puddles, and evidently believing that the rain was
as much a Cornish institution, and therefore a
thing to be "done," as the mines or the
fisheries.

When I went down, a few minutes afterwards,
to liberate Littermere, I found Swilsbury sitting
joyfully on the gate, pointing steadily, like a
weathercock, in the face of the south-wester,
and singing in liquid notes about " a wet sheet
and a flowing sea," to a tune pretty much of his
own composition.

I don't intend going into any long detailed
account of all the miseries I endured during
the ten mortal days that Littermere and Swilsbury
remained in these parts, but I may say
generally that ten days of a more amphibious
life were never spent by any inhabitant of terra
firma, and that I am still laid up with the
rheumatism, which I contracted on that occasion.
I had hugged the idea, before they came
down, that, after all, I could show them only just
as many of the Cornish sights as I pleased,
but that pet notion was very quickly dispelled.
On the very first day, Littermere produced
a book, which at once showed me that I
was entirely at their mercy. It was a Cornish
guide-book. What adequate punishment can
possibly be found for the man who wrote that
book! Our excursions commenced on the
very next day. Swilsbury, if he could have had
his wild will, would have started us for the
Land's End just one hour after his arrival; but,
for a wonder, on that occasion I had Littermere
on my side, and we managed together to hold
him in check.

That first day, the only one that I passed in
dry clothes, was a day of deep plots and wily
stratagems, during which they drew up a sketch
of the campaign they had come to open.

"As regards the weather, you know," says
Littermere, " I am, of course, quite prepared
for that. Of course, I knew perfectly well
beforehand that it always rained in these parts,
although I wasn't aware that it rained so