Bellew strolled along the road, breathing an air fragrant with
honey-suckle from the hedges, and full of the song of birds; pausing,
now and then, to listen to the blythe carol of a sky-lark, or the rich;
sweet notes of a black-bird, and feeling that it was indeed, good to be
alive; so that, what with all this,--the springy turf beneath his feet,
and the blue expanse over-head, he began to whistle for very joy of it,
until, remembering the Haunting Shadow of the Might Have Been, he
checked himself, and sighed instead. Presently, turning from the road,
he climbed a stile, and followed a narrow path that led away across the
meadows, and, as he went, there met him a gentle wind laden with the
sweet, warm scent of ripening hops, and fruit.

On he went, and on,--heedless of his direction until the sun grew low,
and he grew hungry; wherefore, looking about, he presently espied a nook
sheltered from the sun's level rays by a steep bank where flowers
bloomed, and ferns grew. Here he sat down, unslinging his knap-sack, and
here it was, also, that he first encountered Small Porges.



CHAPTER IV

_How Small Porges in looking for a fortune for another, found an Uncle
for Himself instead_

The meeting of George Bellew and Small Porges, (as he afterward came to
be called), was sudden, precipitate, and wholly unexpected; and it
befell on this wise: