"I did not forget," said George reprovingly. "I should have acted long ago, if I could have found these precious plans. Here is the prospectus in dear uncle's writing. He shows how simple and inexpensive it would be to build a railway across the Dartmoor, without a single viaduct, tunnel, embankment, or cutting. It was his intention to make Highfield Station a terminus, as he could not see his way to surmount the steep drop into the valley without going to considerable expense. Now you can understand why it is no longer my intention to occupy the poorly paid position of station-master. I aim at higher things. I mean to be a railway magnate." "What can you do?" asked Mrs. Drake, much impressed by those relics of her husband. "I shall communicate with my railway friends; I shall float a company, and appoint a Board of Directors; I shall pass a Bill through Parliament." "Whatever is George doing?" inquired Miss Yard. "Making a railway," replied her sister. "I wish I could do something half as useful," sighed Miss Yard. George borrowed five pounds for postage stamps, converted his bedroom into an office, and fed the village with false news which percolated into the ears of Mrs. Drake by means of Robert the dripping tap and Kezia the filter. George had anticipated this, and, knowing the truthful ways of the village, was not greatly astonished when Robert informed him in confidence how engineers had already been seen taking the level of the Dartmoor heights; while the parishioners had sworn to tear up the railway as fast as it was made, unless they received ample compensation for this cynical infringement of their rights. What he had not anticipated was the action taken by his aunt. Left to herself she would have remained credulous to the end; but Kezia declared Mr. George was not spending his days letter writing; while Bessie stated the postmistress had told her Mr. George had bought no stamps lately. "I have looked into his room and seen him writing," said Mrs. Drake despairingly. "He wur doing poetry, mum," said Kezia sadly. "Oh, I'm sure he's not so bad as that," cried the lady. "I don't want to say too much, mum, and I ain't going to say anything against Mr. George, whom you might call a member of the family," continued Kezia in the voice of doom, "but I saw a lot of the paper he had wrote some of his poetry on." "I saw it too, mum," chimed in Bessie. "And, mum, at the end of the first line wur six kisses." "Crosses, mum," exclaimed Bessie, as an expert in this form of literature. "And the second line--oh, mum, I don't know as how I can say it." "Shall I do it vor ye?" asked Bessie eagerly. "No, Bess, I'll do it. He said, mum, his heart wur all jelly." "Think of that, mum!" gasped Bessie. "Oh no! Not jelly again. We had yesterday," cried Miss Yard, who liked to be consulted concerning the bill of fare. "I do hope the poor creature isn't going off his head," said Mrs. Drake.