"An' where, sir?"

"Here."

"Be you a-goin' to sleep the night in this moloncholy place?"

"Certainly."

"Very well, sir. Please yoursel', as Dick said to the press-gang.
An' what be I to do fust?"

Mr. Fogo perhaps did not hear the question, for he was gazing out at
the falling shadows: when he spoke again it was upon another subject.

"It is right that you should know," said he, "the kind of life you
will be wanted to lead. In the first place, I am extraordinarily
subject to fits of abstraction--absence of mind, in other words.
It is an affection to which my style of life has made me particularly
prone: it has led me before now into absurd, and sometimes into
dangerous situations.

"I _have_ heard tell," said Caleb, "of an old gentl'm'n as carefully
tucked hes umbrella in bed an' put hissel' in the corner. Es that
the style o' thing, sir?"

"It is something similar," said his master, "and within certain
limits I should expect you to look after me and as far as possible
prevent such accidents: however, I shall not, of course, expect you
to have more than one pair of eyes. My tastes are simple--I read a
little, sketch a little, botanise, dabble in chemistry, am fond of