beside the fireplace, watching his mother grilling rashers; but there was nothing in grilling, he thought, unless the Vision grilled. The limp rasher hung down be- tween the bars of the gridiron like a cat in a child's arms; but there was nothing in similes. He looked at the daylight shadows of a yellow hue, dancing with the firelight shadows in blue on the whitewashed chimney corner, but there was nothing in shadows. 'Perhaps the new young wom—sch—Miss Fancy Day will sing in church with us this morning,' he said.
The tranter looked a long time before he replied, 'I fancy she will; and yet I fancy she won't.'
Dick implied that such a remark was rather to be tolerated than admired; though the slight meagreness observable in the information conveyed disappointed him less than may be expected, deliberateness in
