nately like angel's visits, few and far between. In spite of
his stand in the matter, though, I can't help thinking there was a great
deal of truth in a rhyme a friend of mine got off on Youth. It fits the
case. He said:

"'Youth is a state of being we attain
In early years; to some 'tis but a crime--
And, like the mumps, most aged men complain,
It can't be caught, alas! a second time."'

"Your rhymes are interesting, and your reasoning, as usual, is faulty,"
said the School-master. "I passed a very pleasant childhood, though it
was a childhood devoted, as you have insinuated, to serious rather than
to flippant pursuits. I wasn't particularly fond of tag and
hide-and-seek, nor do I think that even as an infant I ever cried for
the moon."

"It would have expanded your chest if you had, Mr. Pedagog," observed
the Idiot, quietly.

"So it would, but I never found myself short-winded, sir," retorted the
School-master, with some acerbity.

"That is evident; but go on," said the Idiot. "You never passed a
childish youth nor a youthful childhood, and therefore what?"

"Therefore, in my present condition, I am normally contented. I have no
youthful follies to look back upon, no indiscretions to regret; I never
knowingly told a lie, and--"

"All of which proves that you never were young," put in the Idiot; "and
you will excuse me if I say it, but my father is the model for me rather
than so exalted a personage as yourself. He is still young, though
turned seventy, and I don't believe on his own account there ever was a
boy who played hookey more, who prevaricated oftener, who purloined
others' fruits with greater frequency than he. He was guilty of every
crime in the calendar of youth; and if there is one thing that delights
him more than another, it is to sit on a winter's night before the
crackling log and tell us yarns about his youthful follies and his
boyhood indiscretions."

"But is he normally a happy man?" queried the School-master.

"No."

"Ah!"

"No. He's an _ab_normally happy man, because he's got his follies and
indiscretions to look back upon and not forward to."

"Ahem!" said Mrs. Smithers.

"Dear me!" ejaculated Mr. Whitechoker.

Mr. Pedagog said nothing, and the breakfast-room was soon deserted.

XIII

There was an air of suppressed excitement about Mrs. Smithers and Mr.
Pedagog as they sat down to breakfast. Something had happened, but just
what that something was no