better than himself as a little child is; but it would be much--much upon
his cruel head, and much upon his guilty soul--if he could be so wicked
as to invoke a curse. He had better have a millstone round his neck, and
be cast into the deepest sea. Live and thrive, my pretty baby!" Here he
kissed her. "Live and prosper, and become in time the mother of other
little children, like the Angels who behold The Father's face!"

He kissed her again, gave her up gently to both her parents, and went
out.

But he went not to Wales. No, he never went to Wales. He went
straightway for another stroll about the town, and he looked in upon the
people at their work, and at their play, here, there, every-there, and
where not. For he was Barbox Brothers and Co. now, and had taken
thousands of partners into the solitary firm.

He had at length got back to his hotel room, and was standing before his
fire refreshing himself with a glass of hot drink which he had stood upon
the chimney-piece, when he heard the town clocks striking, and, referring
to his watch, found the evening to have so slipped away, that they were
striking twelve. As he put up his watch again, his eyes met those of his
reflection in the chimney-glass.

"Why, it's your birthday already," he said, smiling. "You are looking
very well. I wish you many happy returns of the day."

He had never before bestowed that wish upon himself. "By Jupiter!" he
discovered, "it alters the whole case of running away from one's
birthday! It's a thing to explain to Phoebe. Besides, here is quite a
long story to tell her, that has sprung out of the road with no story.