PART XII.




CHAPTER I.


The Hegira is completed,--we have all taken roost in the old Tower. My
father's books have arrived by the wagon, and have settled themselves
quietly in their new abode,--filling up the apartment dedicated to their
owner, including the bed chamber and two lobbies. The duck also has
arrived, under wing of Mrs. Primmins, and has reconciled herself to the
old stewpond, by the side of which my father has found a walk that
compensates for the peach-wall, especially as he has made acquaintance
with sundry respectable carps, who permit him to feed them after he has
fed the duck,--a privilege of which (since, if any one else approaches,
the carps are off in an instant) my father is naturally vain. All
privileges are valuable in proportion to the exclusiveness of their
enjoyment.

Now, from the moment the first carp had eaten the bread my father threw
to it, Mr. Caxton had mentally resolved that a race so confiding should
never be sacrificed to Ceres and Primmins. But all the fishes on my
uncle's property were under the special care of that Proteus Bolt; and
Bolt was not a man likely to suffer the carps to earn their bread
without contributing their full share to the wants of the community.
But, like master, like man! Bolt was an aristocrat fit to be hung a la
lanterne. He out-Rolanded Roland in the respect he entertained for
sounding names and old families; and by that bait my father caught him