made him the demon of
strength he once was. The little boy was not only glad to perform these
acts for his own sake, but for the sake of lightening the labours of his
hero, who wrenched his back anew nearly every time he tried to do
anything, and was always having to take a medicine for it which he called
"peach-and-honey." The little boy thought the name attractive, though his
heart bled for the sufferer each time he was obliged to take it; for after
every swallow of the stuff he made a face that told eloquently how
nauseous it must be.

As for the satire and wit of Cousin Bill J., they were of the dry sort. He
would say to one he met on the street when the mud was deep, "Fine weather
overhead"--then adding dryly, after a significant pause--"_but few going
that way!"_ Or he would exclaim with feigned admiration, when the little
boy shot at a bird with his bow and arrow, "My! you made the feathers fly
_that_ time!"--then, after his terrible pause--_"only, the bird flew with
them_." Also he could call it "Fourth of Ju-New-Years" without ever
cracking a smile, though it cramped the little boy in helpless laughter.

Altogether, Cousin Bill J. was a winning and lovely character of merits
both spiritual and spectacular, and he brought to the big house an exotic
atmosphere that was spicy with delights. The little boy prayed that this
hero might be made again the man he once was; not because of any flaw that
he could see in him--but only because the sufferer appeared somewhat less
than perfect to himself. To Bernal's mind, indeed, nothing could have been
superior to the noble melancholy with which Cousin Bill J. looked back
upon his splendid past. There was a perfect dignity in it. Surely no mere
electric belt could bring to him an attraction surpassing this--though
Cousin Bill J. insisted that he never expected any real improvement until
he could save up enough money to buy one. He showed the little boy a
picture cut from a newspaper--the picture of a strong, proud-looking man
with plenteous black whiskers, girded about with a wide belt that was
projecting a great volume of electricity into the air in every direction.
It was interesting enough, but the little boy thought this person by no
means so beautiful as Cousin Bill J., and said so. He believed, too,
though this he did not say, from tactful motives, that it would detract
from the dignity of Cousin Bill J. to go about clad only in an electric
belt, like the proud-lookin