this grindstone, and then to go home and reflect. As for me, I
have a gross of pins to grind before the sun goes down."

I cannot say that my depression of mind was at all relieved
by what I had seen and heard. I had lost sight of Barbel for
some years, and I had supposed him still floating on the sun-
sparkling stream of prosperity where I had last seen him. It was
a great shock to me to find him in such a condition of poverty
and squalor, and to see a man who had originated the "Conundrum
of the Anvil" reduced to the soul-depressing occupation of
grinding pin-points. As I walked and thought, the dreadful
picture of a totally eclipsed future arose before my mind. The
moral of Barbel sank deep into my heart.

When I reached home I told my wife the story of my friend
Barbel. She listened with a sad and eager interest.

"I am afraid," she said, "if our fortunes do not quickly
mend, that we shall have to buy two little grindstones. You know
I could help you at that sort of thing."

For a long time we sat together and talked, and devised many
plans for the future. I did not think it necessary yet for me to
look out for a pin contract; but I must find some way of making
money, or we should starve to death. Of course, the first thing
that suggested itself was the possibility of finding some other
business. But, apart from the difficulty of immediately
obtaining remunerative work in occupations to which I had not
been trained, I felt a great and natural reluctance to give up a
profession for which I had carefully prepared myself, and which