"Good by, dear Joe!--No, don't wipe it off--for God's sake, give me your

blackened hand!--I shall be down soon and often."

"Never too soon, sir," said Joe, "and never too often, Pip!"

Biddy was waiting for me at the kitchen door, with a mug of new milk and

a crust of bread. "Biddy," said I, when I gave her my hand at parting,

"I am not angry, but I am hurt."

"No, don't be hurt," she pleaded quite pathetically; "let only me be

hurt, if I have been ungenerous."

Once more, the mists were rising as I walked away. If they disclosed to

me, as I suspect they did, that I should not come back, and that Biddy

was quite right, all I can say is,--they were quite right too.




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