and picked it up, but, finding it far too heavy to carry,
he handed it to a Corporation road-sweeper.

'I'll send for it,' he said; 'wait here.'

These were the only words uttered by him during a memorable journey.

The second disaster was that the deceitful afternoon turned to
rain--cold, cruel rain, persistent rain, full of sinister significance.
Mr. Curtenty ruefully raised the velvet of his Melton. As he did so a
brougham rolled into Oldcastle Street, a little in front of him, from
the direction of St. Peter's Church, and vanished towards Hillport. He
knew the carriage; he had bought it and paid for it. Deep, far down, in
his mind stirred the thought:

'I'm just the least bit glad she didn't see me.'

He had the suspicion, which recurs even to optimists, that happiness is
after all a chimera.

The third disaster was that the sun set and darkness descended. Mr.
Curtenty had, unfortunately, not reckoned with this diurnal phenomenon;
he had not thought upon the undesirability of being under compulsion to
drive geese by the sole illumination of gas-lamps lighted by Corporation
gas.

After this disasters multiplied. Dark and the rain had transformed the
farce into something else. It was five-thirty when at last he reached
The Firs, and the garden of The Firs was filled with lamentable
complainings of a remnant of geese. His man Pond met him with a
stable-lantern.

'Damp, sir,' said Pond.

'Oh, nowt to speak of,' said Mr. Curtenty, and, taking off his hat, he
shot the fluid contents of the brim into Pond's face. It was his way of
dotting the 'i' of irony. 'Missis come in?'

'Yes, sir; I have but just rubbed the horse down.'

So far no reference to the surrounding geese, all forlorn in the heavy
winter rain.

'I've gotten a two-three geese and one gander here for Christmas,' said
Mr. Curtenty after a pause. To inferiors he always used the dialect.

'Yes, sir.'

'Turn 'em into th' orchard, as you call it.'

'Yes, sir.'

'They aren't all here. Thou mun put th' horse in the trap and fetch the
rest thysen.'

'Yes, sir.'

'One's dead. A roadman's takkin' care on it in Oldcastle Street. He'll
wait for thee. Give him sixpence.'

'Yes, sir.'

'There's another got into th' cut [canal].'

'Yes, sir.'

'There's another strayed on the railway-line--happen it's run over by
this.'

'Yes, sir.'

'And one's making the best of her way to Oldcastle. I couldna coax her
in here.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Collect