“Yes, but Mr. Maitland was charged four dollars duty on a pair he bought for twenty shillings in London, and he presented them to the custom-house officers rather than give their value over again,” said Maisie triumphantly. “Did he, really?” cried her mother, brightening up wonderfully under the beneficent influence of other people’s misfortunes. “What a shame! Four dollars duty on twenty-shilling blankets! I never heard of anything so preposterous.” “Yes, and Dr. Carson gave them a silver watch he had brought over for his little boy, rather than pay the duty on that, it was so high,” continued Maisie, who seemed to know the fate and fortunes of every passenger on board. Her mother’s face relaxed from fretfulness into smiles. “I wonder he doesn’t sue the government, or something,” she remarked, with feminine vagueness. “I am sure I should. It is a good thing, Maisie, we had no watches to bring.” The girl chuckled softly, and shook the little châtelaine by her side. “Yes, it _is_ a good thing,” she said, with an air of simple conviction. “After all, we did get off pretty cheap. And it was almost worth the money to see the delicious flourish with which that muddy old overshoe tumbled on the scene. Don’t _you_ think,” turning once more appealingly to me, “that three dollars and ninety cents was little enough to pay for such a sight?” Perhaps I did. A laugh is always worth its price, and in these serious days grows rare at any figure. Besides, when a great republic condescends to play an active part in even an indifferent comedy, it is ill-timed to grumble at the cost. MR. WILDE’S _INTENTIONS_