pin, and who was
despised by Adam Smith on that account and respected by Macaulay, much
more the artist nevertheless.

Appearing now, indoors, by the light of the candle, his stalwart
healthiness was a sight to see. His beard was close and knotted as that
of a chiselled Hercules; his shirt sleeves were partly rolled up, his
waistcoat unbuttoned; the difference in hue between the snowy linen and
the ruddy arms and face contrasting like the white of an egg and its
yolk. Mrs. Smith, on hearing them enter, advanced from the pantry.

Mrs. Smith was a matron whose countenance addressed itself to the
mind rather than to the eye, though not exclusively. She retained her
personal freshness even now, in the prosy afternoon-time of her life;
but what her features were primarily indicative of was a sound common
sense behind them; as a whole, appearing to carry with them a sort of
argumentative commentary on the world in general.

The details of the accident were then rehearsed by Stephen's father, in
the dramatic manner also common to Martin Cannister, other individuals
of the neighbourhood, and the rural world generally. Mrs. Smith threw in
her sentiments between the acts, as Coryphaeus of the tragedy, to make
the description complete. The story at last came to an end, as the
longest will, and Stephen directed the conversation into another
channel.

'Well, mother, they know everything about me now,' he said quietly.

'Well done!' replied his father; 'now my mind's at peace.'

'I blame myself--I never shall forgive myself--for not telling them
before,' continued the young man.

Mrs. Smith at this point abstracted her mind from the former subject. 'I
don't see what you have to grieve about, Stephen,' she said. 'People who
accidentally get friends don't, as a first stroke, tell the history of
their families.'

'Ye've done no wrong, certainly,' said his father.

'No; but I should have spoken sooner. There's more in this visit of mine
than you think--a good deal more.'

'Not more than I think,' Mrs. Smith replied, looking contemplatively at
him. Stephen blushed; and his father looked from one to the other in a
state of utter incomprehension.

'She's a pretty piece enough,' Mrs. Smith continued, 'and very lady-like
and clever too. But though she's very well fit for you as far as that
is, why, mercy 'pon me, what ever do you want any woman at all for yet?'

John made his naturally short mouth a long one, and wrinkled his
f