"Thank you."

He stopped rowing, drew the oars out of the water, looked her into the
face and asked:

"What do you mean by that?--No, don't be angry with me; I will tell
you something, I am a queer sort of person. You cannot understand it.
You think because I wear good clothes, I must be a fine man. My father
was a fine man; I have been told that he knew no end of things, and I
daresay he did, since he was a district-judge. I know nothing because
mother and I were all to each other, and I did not care to learn the
things they teach in the schools, and don't care about them now
either. Oh, you ought to have seen my mother; she was such a tiny wee
lady. When I was no older than thirteen I could carry her down into
the garden. She was so light; in recent years I would often carry her
on my arm through the whole garden and park. I can still see her in
her black gowns with the many wide laces. . . ."

He seized the oars and rowed violently. The councilor became a little
uneasy, when the water reached so high at the stern, and suggested,
that they had better see about getting home again; so back they went.

"Tell me," said the girl, when the violence of his rowing had decreased
a little. "Do you often go to town?"

"I have never been there."

"Never been there? And you only live twelve miles away?"

"I don't always live here, I live at all sorts of places since my