“You are very much mistaken,” said the old gentleman, rousing himself suddenly. “You can see nothing at all to laugh at in me; for I am made like most people—and—besides—I allow no man to laugh at me. This reminds me, Mr. Webb, of the golden rule—I beg your pardon for my mirth; but, really, the hat and coat, to say nothing of the boots, were too much for me. But, my little man—hem—Mr. Webb, I mean, why do you not go into the country and gather a little colour and flesh? You would look more like a—hem—you would look as well again. Little Winny and the little—doll—baby—would be the better for country air too.” Mr. Webb, thoroughly good tempered, had long since smiled off his chagrin, for he had a splendid edition of Shakspeare on his lap; and he could not but think that the hint of the country might be of use to him. He thought there was a possibility of drawing Mr. Banks over to his scheme of living there; he, therefore, hastily explained his reasons for being in town; and spoke of his regrets at not being able to live in the country, both on his child’s account and his own. He finished by stating his wife’s strong aversion to the plan, and of the impossibility of her ever consenting to it. “What income have you, my little—hem—Mr. Webb, I mean.” “Why, sir, we have about six hundred dollars a year. Now I think that sum, with my wife’s economy—and I have no expensive habits”— “No, I’ll be sworn that your clothes won’t cost you much—nay,” said he, on seeing the colour fly into Mr. Webb’s face, “let me have my joke, and I’ll make you amends. In the first place, I will manage your wife, so that she shall come into your plans. Winny always liked to have her own way; and, as I helped to spoil her, when young, it is but fair that I should endeavour to set things a little square now. And, to repay you for bearing so well with an old man’s humour—which, considering how little there is of you—nay, my boy—Mr. Webb, I mean, don’t look so angry; I was only going to observe, that I might as well give you, in my lifetime, what I should certainly leave you at my death. I mean a little estate I have, called Oak Valley. It is just the very thing for two such little—I mean two such agreeable young people.” “I am much obliged to you for your kindness, sir, but it will be a useless present; you forget your niece has a strong aversion to the country.”