"No; I believe I don't feel the burthen of years much; not bodily, that is. In the mind, I think I do. You see, I've come to a time of life when a man can't keep putting off his own comfort and happiness to the day after to-morrow. Which," added Mr. Bragg thoughtfully, "is exactly where young folks have the pull, I think." "That's queer, too, Mr. Bragg!" remarked Jo Weatherhead. "Putting off your own comfort and happiness seems a poor way to enjoy yourself, sir." "Ah, but what you only _mean_ to do, always comes up to your expectations; and what you _do_ do, doesn't!" rejoined Mr. Bragg, with a slow, emphatic nod of the head. "Well, but as to 'feeling the burthen of years,' that's putting it too strong," said Mrs. Dobbs. "You have no right to feel that burthen yet awhile. Why, you must be--let me see!--under fifty-three." "Fifty-three last birthday." "Ay; I wasn't far out. Lord, that's no age! I might be your mother, Mr. Bragg." "I'm glad to hear you say so!--I mean, I'm glad you don't think me too old--not quite an old fellow, in short." "No; to be sure not!" Mr. Bragg was silent for fully a minute. Then he said, "Well, whether I'm quite an old fellow or not, I'm too old to trust much to the day after to-morrow. So, if not inconvenient to you, Mrs. Dobbs, I should like to say a few words to you about a matter that has been on my mind for some little time." "Certainly, Mr. Bragg. I'm quite at your service." Mr. Bragg looked slowly round the little parlour; looked out of the window at the tiny garden; looked at Mr. Weatherhead; finally looked at Mrs. Dobbs again, and said, "It's a private matter." "I had better go, Sarah," said Jo. "I shall look round again at tea-time;" and he made a show of rising from his chair, very slowly and reluctantly. "Oh, perhaps you've no call to go away, Jo. I have no business secrets from my brother-in-law, Mr. Bragg. He is my oldest and best friend in the world." Mr. Bragg rubbed his chin slowly with his hand, and answered with a certain embarrassment, but quite straightforwardly, "It's a matter private to _me_." After this Jo Weatherhead had nothing for it but to take his departure, and to endeavour to calm the fever of his curiosity with tobacco. Mrs. Dobbs remained alone with her visitor, wondering more and more what could be the subject of his proposed communication. Her thoughts, in connection with Mr. Bragg, persistently hovered about the house in Friar's Row. But his first words scattered them in widespread confusion. "Your grand-daughter, Miss Cheffington, tells me that she is not going to Glengowrie Castle this autumn, Mrs. Dobbs." "Why--no--I believe not," answered Mrs. Dobbs, looking at him curiously. "In that case I don't think I shall go there myself. I'm no sportsman. I always feel lonely in a house full of strangers. And, besides--I was invited partic'larly to meet Miss Cheffington."