"Well, you'll get it settled between yer some day!" drawled Uncle
Abe.

Later, after thinking comfortably over the matter, he observed:

"Cast yer coffee an' bread an' bacon upon the waters---"

Uncle Abe never hurried himself or anybody else.




THE BATH



The moral should be revived. Therefore, this is a story with a moral.
The lower end of Bill Street--otherwise William--overlooks Blue's
Point Road, with a vacant wedge-shaped allotment running down from a
Scottish church between Bill Street the aforesaid and the road, and a
terrace on the other side of the road. A cheap, mean-looking terrace
of houses, flush with the pavement, each with two windows upstairs and
a large one in the middle downstairs, with a slit on one side of it
called a door--looking remarkably skully in ghastly dawns, afterglows,
and rainy afternoons and evenings. The slits look as if the owners of
the skulls got it there from an upward blow of a sharp tomahawk, from
a shorter man--who was no friend of theirs--just about the time they
died. The slits open occasionally, and mothers of the nation, mostly
holding their garments together at neck or bosom, lean out--at right