of the sordid squabble, the dirty and miserable tragedy of the life I
had left for a while, came before my eyes; and I had, as it were, a
vision of all my longings for rest and peace in the past, and I
loathed the idea of going back to it again. But the old man chuckled
and said:

"Don't be afraid, Dick. In any case, I have not been talking to thin
air; nor, indeed to this new friend of ours only. Who knows but I
may not have been talking to many people? For perhaps our guest may
some day go back to the people he has come from, and may take a
message from us which may bear fruit for them, and consequently for
us."

Dick looked puzzled, and said: "Well, gaffer, I do not quite
understand what you mean. All I can say is, that I hope he will not
leave us: for don't you see, he is another kind of man to what we
are used to, and somehow he makes us think of all kind of things; and
already I feel as if I could understand Dickens the better for having
talked with him."

"Yes," said Clara, "and I think in a few months we shall make him
look younger; and I should like to see what he was like with the
wrinkles smoothed out of his face. Don't you think he will look
younger after a little time with us?"

The old man shook his head, and looked earnestly at me, but did not
answer her, and for a moment or two we were all silent. Then Clara
broke out:

"Kinsman, I don't like this: something or another troubles me, and I