“Had you any money of your own about you at the time?” “Where could the like of me get money?--asking pardon for making so bold as to catechise your ladyship.” “I don’t know where you could get it,” said Miss Wilson testily; “I ask you, had you any?” “Well, lady, I disremember. I will not impose upon you. I disremember.” “Then you’ve made a mistake,” said Miss Wilson, handing him back his money. “Here. If it is not yours, it is not ours; so you had better keep it.” “Keep it! Oh, lady, but this is the heighth of nobility! And what shall I do to earn your bounty, lady?” “It is not my bounty: I give it to you because it does not belong to me, and, I suppose, must belong to you. You seem to be a very simple man.” “I thank your ladyship; I hope I am. Respecting the day’s work, now, lady; was you thinking of employing a poor man at all?” “No, thank you; I have no occasion for your services. I have also to give you the shilling I promised you for getting the cabs. Here it is.” “Another shillin’!” cried Smilash, stupefied. “Yes,” said Miss Wilson, beginning to feel very angry. “Let me hear no more about it, please. Don’t you understand that you have earned it?” “I am a common man, and understand next to nothing,” he replied reverently. “But if your ladyship would give me a day’s work to keep me goin’, I could put up all this money in a little wooden savings bank I have at home, and keep it to spend when sickness or odd age shall, in a manner of speaking, lay their ‘ends upon me. I could smooth that grass beautiful; them young ladies ‘ll strain themselves with that heavy roller. If tennis is the word, I can put up nets fit to catch birds of paradise in. If the courts is to be chalked out in white, I can draw a line so straight that you could hardly keep yourself from erecting an equilateral triangle on it. I am honest when well watched, and I can wait at table equal to the Lord Mayor o’ London’s butler.” “I cannot employ you without a character,” said Miss Wilson, amused by his scrap of Euclid, and wondering where he had picked it up. “I bear the best of characters, lady. The reverend rector has known me from a boy.” “I was speaking to him about you yesterday,” said Miss Wilson, looking hard at him, “and he says you are a perfect stranger to him.” “Gentlemen is so forgetful,” said Smilash sadly. “But I alluded to my native rector--meaning the rector of my native village, Auburn. ‘Sweet Auburn, loveliest village of the plain,’ as the gentleman called it.” “That was not the name you mentioned to Mr. Fairholme. I do not recollect what name you gave, but it was not Auburn, nor have I ever heard of any such place.” “Never read of sweet Auburn!” “Not in any geography or gazetteer. Do you recollect telling me that you have been in prison?”