ensed victualler' like
myself, particularly as I am English only by adoption, and not by birth.

Chapter XXV. Et ego in Arcadia vixit.

I essayed another nap after this exciting episode. I heard the gate open
once or twice, but a single stray customer, after my hungry and generous
horde, did not stir my curiosity, and I sank into a refreshing slumber,
dreaming that Willie Beresford and I kept an English inn, and that I
was the barmaid. This blissful vision had been of all too short duration
when I was awakened by Mrs. Bobby's apologetic voice.

"It is too bad to disturb you, miss, but I've got to go and patch up the
fence, and smooth over the matter of the turnips with Mrs. Gooch, who is
that snorty I don't know 'ow ever I can pacify her. There is nothing for
you to do, miss, only if you'll kindly keep an eye on the customer at
the yew-tree table. He's been here for 'alf an hour, miss, and I think
more than likely he's a foreigner, by his actions, or may be he's not
quite right in his 'ead, though 'armless. He has taken four cups of tea,
miss, and Billy saw him turn two of them into the 'olly'ocks. He has
been feeding bread-and-butter to the dog, and now the baby is on his
knee, playing with his fine gold watch. He gave me a 'alf-a-crown and
refused to take a penny change; but why does he stop so long, miss? I
can't help worriting over the silver cream-jug that was my mother's."

Mrs. Bobby disappeared. I rose lazily, and approached the window to keep
my promised eye on the mysterious customer. I lifted back the purple
clematis to get a better view.

It was Willie Beresford! He looked up at my ejaculation of surprise,
and, dropping the baby as if it had been a parcel, strode under the
window.

I (gasping). "How did you come here?"

He. "By the usual methods, dear."

I. "You shouldn't have come without asking. Where are all your fine
promises? What shall I do with you? Do you know there isn't an hotel
within four miles?"

He. "That is nothing; it was four hundred miles that I couldn't endure.
But give me a less grudging welcome than this, though I am like a
starving dog that will snatch any morsel thrown to him! It is really
autumn, Penelope, or it will be in a few days. Say you are a little glad
to see me."

(The sight of him so near, after my weeks of loneliness, gave me a
feeling so sudden, so sweet, and so vivid that it seemed to smite me
first on the eyes, and then in the heart; and at the first