The author now uses this privilege—takes pole in hand, and, seeing the end before him, makes for it. What does he first see after having put down the pole and leaped? A van. Surely the familiar Cheap Jack conveyance, crawling along the drove on a summer's day, drawn by an old horse that takes a few steps, then pauses, breathes hard, looks behind him with a peculiarly resolute expression in his eye, and ignores absolutely every appeal, entreaty, objurgation addressed to him, till he has recovered his wind, when he goes on once more. From within the van issue cheery children's voices. Then some little heads appear, some with auburn hair and brown eyes, others very fair, and with eyes the colour of the sky. 'What the dickens is that there concern?' asks a stranger, standing on the tow-path by the Lark, who from his vantage-ground watches the slow and intermittent progress of the van on the drove. 'Lor' bless you!' answers a ganger going by. 'It's only them little Cheap Jackies taking a drive.' Again. What is the meaning of the noise that issues from the coach-house? A shrill voice is haranguing, then is broken in on by a clamour of other voices. Let us look within. The van is there, in a house so boxed in as to be inaccessible to poultry. The front of the van is down. The red velvet curtains, much faded, and the gold fringe, much tarnished, are suspended in their proper places, decorating the front. One boy is on the platform, and is exhibiting his toys to his brothers and sisters, and offering them for sale at extravagant prices; then, abating his demands, he assures them that he offers these articles for absolutely the last time, and at the lowest price which he will consent to receive. Mark Runham returns from the farm. 'Zita,' says he, 'I want to see my little ones. Where are they?' 'At their favourite amusement on a rainy day.' 'What is that?' 'Playing at being Cheap Jacks. Mark, it is in their blood.' 'Who is doing the selling today?' 'Our eldest—James,' answers Zita; 'and, Mark, when James marries, we'll have out that there epergne for the wedding breakfast.' 'That's a long way ahead,' answers Mark. So it seemed to him. But again the novelist uses his privilege, puts down the pole, and away he goes with one great bound over a period of several years, and finds himself suddenly alight in the parlour of Crumbland. He sees before him Mark, now a middle-aged man, broad in shoulders and in beam, with ruddy cheeks that are pretty full; and Zita, now a comely matron. Facing his father and mother, with some shyness in his face, stands Jim, the hope of the family, twirling his hat, and looking furtively in his father's face, as he says— 'Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me, and let me go.' 'Go? Go, Jim? Good gracious! what do you mean? Whither do you want to go?' 'That is just it; nowhere in particular, and yet somewhere.' 'But—leave home?' 'Yes, father, I want to be off and about.'