geniuses who scorn to take prose pains.

It must be admitted, however, that Barbox by no means hurried himself.
His heart being in his work of good-nature, he revelled in it. There was
the joy, too (it was a true joy to him), of sometimes sitting by,
listening to Phoebe as she picked out more and more discourse from her
musical instrument, and as her natural taste and ear refined daily upon
her first discoveries. Besides being a pleasure, this was an occupation,
and in the course of weeks it consumed hours. It resulted that his
dreaded birthday was close upon him before he had troubled himself any
more about it.

The matter was made more pressing by the unforeseen circumstance that the
councils held (at which Mr. Lamps, beaming most brilliantly, on a few
rare occasions assisted) respecting the road to be selected were, after
all, in nowise assisted by his investigations. For, he had connected
this interest with this road, or that interest with the other, but could
deduce no reason from it for giving any road the preference.
Consequently, when the last council was holden, that part of the business
stood, in the end, exactly where it had stood in the beginning.

"But, sir," remarked Phoebe, "we have only six roads after all. Is the
seventh road dumb?"

"The seventh road? Oh!" said Barbox Brothers, rubbing his chin. "That
is the road I took, you know, when I went to get your little present.
That is _its_ story. Phoebe."

"Would you mind taking that road again, sir?" she asked with hesitation.