h to describe her properly; all he could tell
them was she was a very beautiful woman, of medium size. Evidently this
did not satisfy them, the description was too general; any man could say
that, and by this means perhaps get possession of a wife that did not
belong to him. They asked him how she was dressed; for the life of him
he could not recollect.

I doubt if any man could tell how any woman was dressed ten minutes after
he had left her. He recollected a blue skirt, and then there was
something that carried the dress on, as it were, up to the neck.
Possibly, this may have been a blouse; he retained a dim vision of a
belt; but what sort of a blouse? Was it green, or yellow, or blue? Had
it a collar, or was it fastened with a bow? Were there feathers in her
hat, or flowers? Or was it a hat at all? He dared not say, for fear of
making a mistake and being sent miles after the wrong party. The two
young women giggled, which in his then state of mind irritated Harris.
The young man, who appeared anxious to get rid of him, suggested the
police station at the next town. Harris made his way there. The police
gave him a piece of paper, and told him to write down a full description
of his wife, together with details of when and where he had lost her. He
did not know where he had lost her; all he could tell them was the name
of the village where he had lunched. He knew he had her with him then,
and that they had started from there together.

The police looked suspicious; they were doubtful about three matters:
Firstly, was she really his wife? Secondly, had he really lost her?
Thirdly, why had he lost her? With the aid of a hotel-keeper, however,
who spoke a little English, he overcame their scruples. They promised to
act, and in the evening they brought her to him in a covered wagon,
together with a bill for expenses. The meeting was not a tender one.
Mrs. Harris is not a good actress, and always has great difficulty in
disguising her feelings. On this occasion, she frankly admits, she made
no attempt to disguise them.

The wheel business settled, there arose the ever-lasting luggage
question.

"The usual list, I suppose," said George, preparing to write.

That was wisdom I had taught them; I had learned it myself years ago from
my Uncle Podger.

"Always before beginning to pack," my Uncle would say, "make a list."

He was a methodical man.

"Take a piece of paper"--he always began at the beginning