weary man's reckoning, who still sees two long long periods ycleped hours, lying between him and his dinner, like a dreary length of desert waste before the promised land, (yawning and stretching again.) My fishing tackle is all broke and destroyed, and Squire Sapling has borrowed my pointer. I have sat shaking my legs upon the corn-chest, till every horse in the stable is rubbed down, and the groom, happy dog! has gone with his broom in his hand, to sweep out the yard and the kennel. O dear! O dear! O dear! What shall I do?
Mrs. B. (rising from the table) Poor man! I pity you with all my heart; but I do think I could contrive to find employment for you, if you are inclined to it.
Char. Yes, Yes! I am inclined to it! Idleness is tiresome enough, God wot! I am inclined to it, be what it will. But what is it tho’? Have you any skanes of thread to wind?
Mrs. B. No, something better than that, Charles.
Char. What, card boxes to paste?
Mrs. B. Something better than that too.
Char. Poetry or advertisements to cut out of the news-paper?
Mrs. B. No, no, something; better than all these.
Char. (eagerly) It is some new employment then.
Mrs. B. Yes, Charles, a very new one indeed. What would you think of taking up a book and reading an hour before dinner?
