recollection of anything of the kind, adding severely that it was a
pity he and I could not find something better to gossip about. Yet
her next question would be:

"And what else did he say, if you please?" explaining impatiently when
my answer was not of the kind expected: "No, no, I mean about me."

The tea things cleared away, he would bring out his great microscope.
To me it was a peep-hole into a fairy world where dwelt strange
dragons, mighty monsters, so that I came to regard him as a sort of
harmless magician. It was his pet study, and looking back, I cannot
help associating his enthusiasm for all things microscopical with the
fact that he was an exceptionally little man himself, but one of the
biggest hearted that ever breathed.

On leaving I would formally hand him my half-crown, "with mamma's
compliments," and he would formally accept it. But on putting my hand
into my jacket pocket when outside the gate I would invariably find it
there. The first time I took it back to him, but unblushingly he
repudiated all knowledge.

"Must be another half-crown," he suggested; "such things do happen.
One puts change into a pocket and overlooks it. Slippery things,
half-crowns."

Returning home on this particular day of days, I paused upon the
bridge, and watched for awhile the lazy barges manoeuvring their way
between the piers. It was one of those hushed summer evenings when
the air even of grim cities is full of whispering voices; and as,
turning away from the river, I passed through the white toll-gate, I