"This is the way I like to live," said he, when the soup was removed
and he was crumbing bread into the plate for the unknown guest,--"take
my meals in a public house where I can have fresh table linen every
day, throw down my score when I am done, and remain my own master."

When the meat was brought on, Petrovitsch, with his own hand, put a
slice on Lenz's plate, took another himself, and cut again for the
third plate. It must be meant for some very intimate friend, for the
old man put his finger into it, after sprinkling some water over, and
stirred up the food. At last the mystery was explained by his calling
to his dog: "Come, Bubby, come; gently, gently, not so rough, Bubby;
quiet, quiet!" He set the plate on the floor, and the dog attacked the
dinner with a relish, licking his chops when it was over, and looking
up gratefully and contentedly in his master's face. For the rest of the
meal Bubby, as the dog was called, to the disgust of the villagers, got
nothing thrown him but an occasional crumb. Petrovitsch said little
during dinner. When he had finished, he lighted his pipe and took the
paper, which Bubby understood as a sign that he might jump up into his
master's lap. There he remained, half sitting and half standing, while
Petrovitsch read the paper over the dog's head. Lenz found his position
rather embarrassing. The old man's habits were too settled to be easily
interrupted.

"Uncle," he said at last, "what made you spread the report that I was
going abroad?"

Petrovitsch took three comfortable pulls at his cigar, blew out the
smoke, stroked his dog, pushed him gently off his lap, folded the
paper, restored it to his pocket, and finally answered: "Why, Lenz,
what a queer fellow you are! You told me yourself you wanted to renew
your youth by going out to see the world."

"I don't remember saying so."

"Very likely not; you hardly knew what you were talking about. But it
would be a good plan if you did go away awhile; you would get out of
many a rut. I have no desire and no right to force you."

Lenz was actually persuaded by his uncle's positive assertion that he
had expressed such an intention, and apologized for having forgotten
the circumstance.

"Draw your chair up closer, Lenz," whispered Petrovitsch,
confidentially. "There's no need for the world to hear our
conversation. Look here, if you take my advice, you won't marry."

"But, uncle, what makes you suppose I am thinking of marrying?"

"