—- so that I have plenty to read! He tells me
about the sick people who are travelling to try
to get better—- so that I know all about them!
In short, as I began by saying, he tells me everything
he sees and makes out, down at his work,
and you can't think what a quantity he does see
and make out."

"As to collecting newspapers and books, my
dear," said Lamps, " it's clear I can have no
merit in that, because they're not my perquisites.
You see, sir, it's this way: A Guard, he'll say
to me, ' Hallo, here you are, Lamps. I've saved
this paper for your daughter. How is she agoing
on?' A Head-Porter, he'll say to me, ' Here!
Catch hold, Lamps. Here's a couple of wollumes
for your daughter. Is she pretty much where
she were?' And that's what makes it double
welcome, you see. If she had a thousand pound
in a box, they wouldn't trouble themselves about
her; but being what she is—- that is, you understand,"
Lamps added, somewhat hurriedly,
"not having a thousand pound in a box—- they
take thought for her. And as concerning
the young pairs, married and unmarried, it's
only natural I should bring home what little
I can about them, seeing that there's not a
Couple of either sort in the neighbourhood that
don't come of their own accord to confide in
Phoebe."

She raised her eyes triumphantly to Barbox
Brothers, as she said:

"Indeed, sir, that is true. If I could have
got up and gone to church, I don't know how
often I should have been a bridesmaid. But if
I could have done that, some girls in love might
have been jealous of me, and as it is, no girl is
jealous of me. And my pillow would not have
been half as ready to put the piece of cake
under, as I always find it," she added, turning
her face on it with a light sigh, and a smile at
her father.

The arrival of a little girl, the biggest of the
scholars, now led to an understanding on the
part of Barbox Brothers, that she was the
domestic of the cottage, and had come to take
active measures in it, attended by a pail that
might have extinguished her, and a broom three
times her height. He therefore rose to take
his leave, and took it; saying that if Phoebe
had no objection, he would come again.

He had muttered that he would come "in the.
course of his walks." The course of his walks
must have been highly favourable to his return,
for he returned after an interval of a single
day.

"You thought you would never see me
any more, I suppose?" he said to Phoebe as
he touched her hand, and sat down by her
couch.

"Why should I think so!" was her surprised
rejoinder.

"I took it for granted you would mistrust
me."

"For granted, sir? Have you been so much
mistrusted?"

"I think I am justified in answering yes.
But I may have mistrusted too, on my part.
No matter just now. We were speaking of
the Junction last time. I have passed hours
there since the day before yesterday."

"Arc you now the gentleman for
Somewhere?" she asked with a smile.

"Certainly for Somewhere; but I don't yet
know Where. You would never guess what I
am travelling from. Shall I tell you? I am
travelling from my birthday."

Her hands stopped in her work, and she
looked at him with incredulous astonishment.

"Yes," said Barbox Brothers, not quite easy
in his chair, "from my birthday. I am, to myself,
an unintelligible book with the earlier chapters
all torn out, and thrown away. My childhood
had no grace of childhood, my youth had
no charm of youth, and what can be expected
from such a lost beginning?" His eyes meeting
hers as they were addressed intently to him,
something seemed to stir within his breast,
whispering: " Was this bed a place for the
graces of childhood and the charms of youth
to take to, kindly? O shame, shame!"

"It is a disease with me," said Barbox
Brothers, checking himself, and making as
though he had a difficulty in swallowing
something, "to go wrong about that. I don't know
how I came to speak of that. I hope it is because
of an old misplaced confidence in one
of your sex involving an old bitter treachery.
I don't know. I am all wrong together."

Her hands quietly and slowly resumed their
work. Glancing at her, he saw that her eyes
were thoughtfully following them.

"I am travelling from my birthday," he resumed,
"because it has always been a dreary day
to me. My first free birthday coming round
some five or six weeks hence, I am travelling
to put its predecessors far behind me, and to
try to crush the day—- or, at all events, put it
out of my sigh—- by heaping new objects on
it."

As he paused, she looked at him; but only
shook her head as being quite at a loss.

"This is unintelligible to your happy disposition,"
he pursued, abiding by his former phrase
as if there were some lingering virtue of self-
defence in it: "I knew it would be, and am
glad it is. However, on this travel of mine
(in which I mean to pass the rest of my days,
having abandoned all thought of a fixed home),
I stopped, as you heard from your father, at the
Junction here. The extent of its ramifications
quite confused me as to whither I should go,
from here. I have not yet settled, being still
perplexed among so many roads. What do
you think I mean to do? How many of the
branching roads can you see from your window?"

Looking out, full of interest, she answered,
"Seven."

"Seven," said Barbox Brothers, watching her
with a grave smile. " Well! I propose to myself,
at once to reduce the gross number to those
very seven, and gradually to fine them down to
one—- the most promising for me—- and to take
that,"