the girl gave little
thought to the psychic aspect of the possibly unique wooing.

As for Lionel, he refused to dwell on it even in thought. And so that
strange, magic, yearning effluence of a soul into a visible projection
and shape was ignored, slurred over, and, after ten years of domesticity
in the bank premises, is gradually being forgotten.

He is a man of business, and she, with her fading beauty, her ardent,
continuous worship of the idol, her half-dozen small children, the
eldest of whom is only eight, and the white window-curtains to change
every week because of the smuts--do you suppose she has time or
inclination to ponder upon the theory of the subliminal consciousness
and kindred mysteries?

* * * * *

TIDDY-FOL-LOL

It was the dinner-hour, and a group of ragged and clay-soiled apprentice
boys were making a great noise in the yard of Henry Mynors and Co.'s
small, compact earthenware manufactory up at Toft End. Toft End caps the
ridge to the east of Bursley; and Bursley, which has been the home of
the potter for ten centuries, is the most ancient of the Five Towns in
Staffordshire. The boys, dressed for the most part in shirt, trousers,
and boots, all equally ragged and insecure, were playing at prison-bars.

Soon the game ended abruptly in a clamorous dispute upon a point of law,
and it was not recommenced. The dispute dying a natural death, the
tireless energies of the boys needed a fresh outlet. Inspired by a
common instinct, they began at once to bait one of their number, a
slight youngster of twelve years, much better clothed than the rest, who
had adventurously strolled in from a neighbouring manufactory. This
child answered their jibes in an amiable, silly, drawling tone which
seemed to justify the epithet 'Loony,' frequently applied to him. Now
and then he stammered; and then companions laughed loud, and he with
them. It was known that several years ago he had fallen down a flight of
stone steps, alighting on the back of his head, and that ever since he
had been deaf of one ear and under some trifling mental derangement. His
sublime calmness under their jests baffled them until the terrible
figure of Mr. Machin, the engine-man, standing at the door of the
slip-house, caught their attention and suggested a plan full of joyous
possibilities. They gathered round the lad, and, talking in subdued
murmurs, unanimously urged him with many persuasions to a certa