Firstly, was she really his wife? Secondly, had he really lost her?
Thirdly, why had he lost her? With the aid of a hotel-keeper, however,
who spoke a little English, he overcame their scruples. They promised to
act, and in the evening they brought her to him in a covered wagon,
together with a bill for expenses. The meeting was not a tender one.
Mrs. Harris is not a good actress, and always has great difficulty in
disguising her feelings. On this occasion, she frankly admits, she made
no attempt to disguise them.

The wheel business settled, there arose the ever-lasting luggage
question.

"The usual list, I suppose," said George, preparing to write.

That was wisdom I had taught them; I had learned it myself years ago from
my Uncle Podger.

"Always before beginning to pack," my Uncle would say, "make a list."

He was a methodical man.

"Take a piece of paper"--he always began at the beginning--"put down on
it everything you can possibly require, then go over it and see that it
contains nothing you can possibly do without. Imagine yourself in bed;
what have you got on? Very well, put it down--together with a change.
You get up; what do you do? Wash yourself. What do you wash yourself
with? Soap; put down soap. Go on till you have finished. Then take
your clothes. Begin at your feet; what do you wear on your feet? Boots,
shoes, socks; put them down. Work up till you get to your head. What
else do you want besides clothes? A little brandy; put it down. A