ilties of
the human, and they seemed as engaging and confusing in their
directness as a child's; for Mr. Monk was large and bland, with a pale,
puffy, and unsmiling face, and only betrayed his irony with a slow wink
when he was sure you were not deceived. He knew much about the gentry
around, those bored and weary youths in check coats, riding breeches,
and large pipes, and the young ladies in pale homespun costumes who had
rude and familiar words to all they judged were their equals, and were
accompanied invariably by Aberdeen terriers.

One evening I spoke to Mr. Monk of his boy. The boy, I said, seemed a
strange little fellow. Mr. Monk, in his soiled, white apron, turned on
me, and said nothing at first, but tapped his bald head solemnly.
"Can't make him out," he said. "I think this is where it is"--and
pressed a fat thumb against his head again. "But you have to put up
with any boy you can get here." He sighed. "The bright kids go. Clear
out. There's nothing fer 'em here but farm labour an' the poor rate. I
don't know how the farmers about here could make a do of it if we
didn't pay rates to keep their labourers from dying off. My boys get
fed up. Off they go, 'nd I doan' blame 'em. One of 'em's in a racin'
stable now, doin' well. Another's got a potman's job London somewhere.
Doin' well. But the kid I've got now, he'll stop. No ginger in that
boy. Can't see anything five minutes off, either. Must be under his
nose, and your finger shouting at it. He's got a cloudy mind. Yet he's
clever, in his way. There's the door-mat of the shop. As soon as any
one puts a foot on that mat, the clock in my kitchen strikes two. All
his fake. But he does rile the customers. Silly young fool. If there's
two parcels to deliver, it's the wrong one gets first chance."

In a land where discovery had not gone beyond the blacksmith's forge
and the arable fields, a native boy who had turned a door-mat into a
watchdog was an interesting possibility. There the boy was at that
moment, stepping off his responsive mat, ill-clad, the red nose of his
meagre face almost as evident as his magnified stare of surprised
inquiry, and his mouth open. Mr. Monk chaffed him. I spoke with some
seriousness to him, but he was shy, and gave no answer except some
throat noises. Yet presently he ceased to rub a boot up and down one
leg, and became articulate. He mumbled that he knew the telegraph
instrument too. ("Oho!" said Mr. Monk, looking interested. "You do