comes into your head."

"There's no fancy in my head," he said with a quick look of suspicion;
"only you asked me what I dreamed. I don't care if all the world knew. I
dreamed I went down a flight of steps under the lake, and got a message.
There are no steps near Snakes Island, we all know that," and he laughed
chillily. "I'm out of spirits, as you say; and--and--O dear! I
wish--Mrs. Julaper--I wish I was in my coffin, and quiet."

"Now that's very wrong of you, Master Philip; you should think of all
the blessings you have, and not be makin' mountains o' molehills; and
those little bits o' temper Sir Bale shows, why, no one minds 'em--that
is, to take 'em to heart like you do, don't ye see?"

"I daresay; I suppose, Mrs. Julaper, you are right. I'm unreasonable
often, I know," said gentle Philip Feltram. "I daresay I make too much
of it; I'll try. I'm his secretary, and I know I'm not so bright as he
is, and it is natural he should sometimes be a little impatient; I ought
to be more reasonable, I'm sure. It is all that thing that has been
disturbing me--I mean fretting, and, I think, I'm not quite well;
and--and letting myself think too much of vexations. It's my own fault,
I'm sure, Mrs. Julaper; and I know I'm to blame."

"That's quite right, that's spoken like a wise lad; only I don't say
you're to blame, nor no one; for folk can't help frettin' sometimes, no
more than they can help a headache--none but a mafflin would say
that--and I'll not deny but he has dowly ways when the fit's on him, and
he frumps us all round, if such be his humour. But who is there hasn't
his faults? We must bear and forbear, and take what we get and be
cheerful. So chirp up, my lad; Philip, didn't I often ring the a'd rhyme