alleys,
between high, silted banks, which showed that we were within reach of
the tide. No carriage was awaiting me (I found afterwards that my
telegram had been delayed), so I hired a dogcart at the local inn. The
driver, an excellent fellow, was full of my relative's praises, and I
learned from him that Mr. Everard King was already a name to conjure
with in that part of the county. He had entertained the
school-children, he had thrown his grounds open to visitors, he had
subscribed to charities--in short, his benevolence had been so
universal that my driver could only account for it on the supposition
that he had parliamentary ambitions.

My attention was drawn away from my driver's panegyric by the
appearance of a very beautiful bird which settled on a telegraph-post
beside the road. At first I thought that it was a jay, but it was
larger, with a brighter plumage. The driver accounted for its presence
at once by saying that it belonged to the very man whom we were about
to visit. It seems that the acclimatization of foreign creatures was
one of his hobbies, and that he had brought with him from Brazil a
number of birds and beasts which he was endeavouring to rear in
England. When once we had passed the gates of Greylands Park we had
ample evidence of this taste of his. Some small spotted deer, a
curious wild pig known, I believe, as a peccary, a gorgeously feathered
oriole, some sort of armadillo, and a singular lumbering in-toed beast
like a very fat badger, were among the creatures which I observed as we
drove along the winding avenue.

Mr. Everard King, my unknown cousin, was standing in person upon the
steps of his house, for he had seen us in the distance, and guessed
that it was I. His appearance was very homely and benevolent, short
and stout, forty-five years old, perhaps, with a round, good-humoured
face, burned brown with the tropical sun, and shot with a thousand
wrinkles. He wore white linen clothes, in true planter style, with a
cigar between his lips, and a large Panama hat upon the back of his
head. It was such a figure as one associates with a verandahed
bungalow, and it looked curiously out of place in front of this broad,
stone English mansion, with its solid wings and its Palladio pillars
before the doorway.

"My dear!" he cried, glancing over his shoulder; "my dear, here is our
guest! Welcome, welcome to Greylands! I am delighted to make your
acquaintance, Cousin Marshall, and I t