d become in time the mother of other
little children, like the Angels who behold The Father's face!"

He kissed her again, gave her up gently to both her parents, and went
out.

But he went not to Wales. No, he never went to Wales. He went
straightway for another stroll about the town, and he looked in upon the
people at their work, and at their play, here, there, every-there, and
where not. For he was Barbox Brothers and Co. now, and had taken
thousands of partners into the solitary firm.

He had at length got back to his hotel room, and was standing before his
fire refreshing himself with a glass of hot drink which he had stood upon
the chimney-piece, when he heard the town clocks striking, and, referring
to his watch, found the evening to have so slipped away, that they were
striking twelve. As he put up his watch again, his eyes met those of his
reflection in the chimney-glass.

"Why, it's your birthday already," he said, smiling. "You are looking
very well. I wish you many happy returns of the day."

He had never before bestowed that wish upon himself. "By Jupiter!" he
discovered, "it alters the whole case of running away from one's
birthday! It's a thing to explain to Phoebe. Besides, here is quite a
long story to tell her, that has sprung out of the road with no story.
I'll go back, instead of going on. I'll go back by my friend Lamps's Up
X presently."

He went back to Mugby Junction, and, in point of fact, he established
himself at Mugby Junction. It was the convenient place to live in, for
brightening Phoebe's life. It was the convenient place to live in, for
having her taught music by Beatrice. It was the convenient place to live
in, for occasionally borrowing Polly. It was the convenient place to
live in, for being joined at will to all sorts of agreeable places and
persons. So, he became settled there, and, his house standing in an
elevated situation, it is noteworthy of him in conclusion, as Polly
herself might (not irreverently) have put it:

"There was an Old Barbox who lived on a hill,
And if he ain't gone, he lives there still."

Here follows the substance of what was seen, heard, or otherwise picked
up, by the gentleman for Nowhere, in his careful study of the Junction.

CHAPTER III--THE BOY AT MUGBY

I am the boy at Mugby. That's about what _I_ am.

You don't know what I mean? What a pity! But I think you do. I think
you must. Look here. I am the boy at