would, and so I pray you mercy of my fault, and that ye will of your kindness and your charity forgive it, good my master and most dear lord.”

I couldn’t make it all out — that is, the details — but I got the general idea; and enough of it, too, to be ashamed.

It was not fair to spring those nineteenth century technicalities upon the untutored infant of the sixth and then rail at her because she couldn’t get their drift; and when she was making the honest best drive at it she could, too, and no fault of hers that she couldn’t fetch the home plate; and so I apologized. Then we meandered pleasantly away toward the hermit holes in sociable converse together, and better friends than ever.

I was gradually coming to have a