new idea, “I mean pretty well.”

My sister with an exclamation of impatience was going to fly at me, — I had no shadow of defence, for Joe was busy in the forge, — when Mr. Pumblechook interposed with “No!

Don't lose your temper. Leave this lad to me, ma'am; leave this lad to me.” Mr. Pumblechook then turned me towards him, as if he were going to cut my hair, and said, —

“First (to get our thoughts in order): Forty-three pence?”

I calculated the consequences of replying “Four Hundred Pound,” and finding them against me, went as near the answer as I could — which was somewhere about eightpence off. Mr. Pumblechook then