weed in that, Jupiter, hang out thy balance, and weigh them both and if thou give the preference to woman, all I can say is, the next time Juno ruffles thee—O Jupiter, try the weed!
CHAPTER VII.
"May I come in?" asked the Cobbler outside the door.
"Certainly, come in," said Gentleman Waife. Sophy looked wistfully at the aperture, and sighed to see that Merle was alone. She crept up to him.
"Will they not come?" she whispered.
"I hope so, pretty one; it ben't ten yet."
"Take a pipe, Merle," said Gentleman Waife, with a grand comedian air.
"No, thank you kindly; I just looked in to ask if I could do any thing for ye, in case—in case ye must go to-morrow."
"Nothing; our luggage is small, and soon packed. Sophy has the money to discharge the meaner part of our debt to you."
"I don't value that," said the Cobbler, coloring.
"But we value your esteem," said Mr. Waife, with a smile that would have become a field-marshal. "And so, Merle, you think, if I am a broken-down vagrant, it must be put to the long account of the celestial bodies!"
"Not a doubt of it," returned the Cobbler, solemnly. "I wish you would give me date and place of Sophy's birth—that's what I want—I'd take her horryscope. I'm sure she'd be lucky."
"I'd rather not, please," said Sophy, timidly.
"Rather not?—very odd. Why?"
"I don't want to know the future."
"That is odder and odder," quoth the Cobbler, staring; "I never heard a girl say that afore."
"Wait till she's older, Mr. Merle," said Waife; "girls don't want to know the future till they want to be married."
"Summat in that," said the Cobbler. He took up the crystal. "Have you looked into this ball, pretty one, as I bade ye?"
"Yes, two or three times."
"Ha! and what did you see?"
