it may
be ever the mightiest souls that are curbed while on earth by some
physical infirmity.

CHAPTER X.

Patrick Marsh was a cooper, and lived down close to the water's edge in
a shanty of his own construction. He had taken possession of the spot
long before there were any signs of human habitation near, and nobody
had ever doubted his right of ownership. Yet as he beheld the slow but
sure encroaches upon his vicinage he began to tremble even for the
meager handful of earth on which his domicil stood, and used often to go
up to Archie's to condole with the old lady when her own little
resting-place was threatened.

Now he was filled with wrath as he passed the heaps of boards, stone,
and rubbish, and viewed the preparations for the erection of a large and
noble mansion, and he strode hastily on, that he might _effervesce_ in
the old woman's presence, for he wished to convince her of his interest
and displeasure, and a sober pace would have brought back the habitual
placidity to the old man's heart. It was not natural for him to cherish
the slightest degree of malice or resentment, and the very consciousness
that he was out of his usual way distressed and vexed him, so that when
he reached the quiet cottage, it was delightfully soothing to find the
grandmother contentedly sitting knitting--work in hand, beside the door
in no need of comfort, if one might judge by the cheerful, happy
expression.

"Such a blessing, Betty," said he--they were children together--"such a
blessing to find you so easy and nateral-like. I begin to believe the
Lord's hand is raly in it all, and that He always gives as good as He
takes. I used to think there wasn't no place like your old 'un; but it
wasn't a touch to this purty spot!" and he gazed about him with evident
satisfaction, stroking the hounds that loved to wander from their young
master's presence to the sunny room, where there was always a kind word
and a gentle pat for them.

"Archie's better, too," said the old woman with an exultant chuckle, as
she shuffled to the stairs-door to call her grandson.

Patrick didn't think him better, as he noticed his flushed cheek and
trembling, fluttering frame, and he held his hand a long time in his
own, now counting the quick pulse, now pressing it warmly and fondly.

"You'll leave the books, my boy, and be more in the garden, won't you?"
said he in an earnest, anxious tone. "Depend upon it that's the only
thing for you."

Ar