"You have a definite pursuit, sir?"

"I--alas! when a man moralizes, it is a sign that he has known error: it
is because I have been a trifler that I rail against triflers. And
talking of that, time flies, and we must be off and away."

Sophy re-tied the bundle. Sir Isaac, on whom, meanwhile, she had
bestowed the remains of the chicken, jumped up and described a circle.

"I wish you success in your pursuit, whatever it be," stuttered out the
angler.

"And I no less heartily, sir, wish you success in yours."

"Mine! Success there is beyond my power."

"How, sir? Does it rest so much with others?"

"No, my failure is in myself. My career should be the Church, my pursuit
the cure of souls, and--and--this pitiful infirmity! How can I speak the
Divine Word--I--I--a stutterer!"

The young man did not pause for an answer, but plunged through the
brushwood that bespread the banks of the rill, and his hurried path could
be traced by the wave of the foliage through which he forced his way.

"We all have our burdens," said Gentleman Waife, as Sir Isaac took up the
bundle and stalked on, placid and refreshed.