, and through the park again, for he insisted on bringing me
back to the little blue door. We talked mostly about "Peer Gynt,"
which, by the way, he is reading in the original. He seems to read
every possible language, although he declares he speaks nothing but
English. We did not talk at all about ourselves, so I know nothing
further about him, save that he lives in a cottage on the heath
towards Miltonhoe, with his father and his aunt.

When we parted company, he asked me if I would mind going to see his
aunt.

"I believe," said he, "that she ought to call first on you,--at
least, she says so,--but that she'll never do. If I landed her at
your very door, she'd never find courage to ring the bell."

"Very well," said I; "I'll come to her instead."

And the sprite vanished.

I think I shall go to-morrow, or perhaps next day.

Good-bye, sweet,
Your EMILIA.

LETTER XIV.

GRAYSMILL, October 23d.

You are a dear to take such becoming interest in my friend. I have a
great deal more to tell you about the lunatic, as you call him, who,
by the way, is a great deal saner than either you or I.

Well, I went last Thursday. It took me some time to find the
cottage. After much rambling I came upon it in the most secluded
part of the Common, in a slight hollow. It is a sort of double
cottage, partly thatched, standing in a good-sized garden. I marched
through a rickety gate, and made for the house door. The garden is
one wild medley of vegetables, fruit-trees, and flowers, luxuriant
still, in spite of the late season. I was just bending over a
chrysanthemum when I heard a startling "Hulloa!" and found myself
accosted by the gardener, who stood, spade in hand, at the opposite
end of the gravel walk. He was in his shirtsleeves; his corduroy
trousers were more picturesque than respectable; an enormous straw
hat, well tanned and chipped by wear, was stuck on the back of his
head.

"Hulloa!" he cried again.

I approached and asked, as soon as I could do so without shouting,
whether Miss Norton were at home.

"She is at home," replied the man, "and who may you be?"

"Perhaps you will kindly tell her," said I, making up by my civility
for his lack of it, "that Emilia Fletcher has come to see her."

Down went the spade, off came the disreputable hat.

"God bless my soul!" he cried,