shot
across him, and his heart sent up a warm spring of tenderness toward the
patient, good, grubbing old fellow, sitting beside him, who had lived
and died to enrich and elevate the family. At the same time, he could
not refrain from thinking that Anthony, broad-shouldered as he was,
though bent, sound on his legs, and well-coloured for a Londoner,
would be accepted by any Life Insurance office, at a moderate rate,
considering his age. The farmer thought of his own health, and it was
with a pang that he fancied himself being probed by the civil-speaking
Life Insurance doctor (a gentleman who seems to issue upon us applicants
from out the muffled folding doors of Hades; taps us on the chest, once,
twice, and forthwith writes down our fateful dates). Probably, Anthony
would not have to pay a higher rate of interest than he.

"Are you insured, brother Tony?" the question escaped him.

"No, I ain't, brother William John;" Anthony went on nodding like an
automaton set in motion. "There's two sides to that. I'm a long-lived
man. Long-lived men don't insure; that is, unless they're fools. That's
how the Offices thrive."

"Case of accident?" the farmer suggested.

"Oh! nothing happens to me," replied Anthony.

The farmer jumped on his legs, and yawned.

"Shall we take a turn in the garden, brother Tony?"

"With all my heart, brother William John."

The farmer had conscience to be ashamed of the fit of irritable vexation
which had seized on him; and it was not till Anthony being asked the
date of his birth, had declared himself twelve years his senior, that
the farmer felt his speculations to be justified. Anthony was nearly
a generation ahead. They walked about, and were seen from the windows
touching one another on the shoulder in a brotherly way. When they came
back to the women, and tea, the farmer's mind was cooler, and all his
reckonings had gone to mist. He was dejected over his tea.

"What is the matter, father?" said Rhoda.

"I'll tell you, my dear," Anthony replied for him. "He's envying me some
one I want to ask me that question when I'm at my tea in London."

CHAPTER IV

Mr. Fleming kept his forehead from his daughter's good-night kiss
until the room was cleared, after supper, and then embracing her very
heartily, he informed her that her uncle had offered to pay her expenses
on a visit to London, by which he contrived to hint that a golden path
had opened to his girl, and at the same time entre