Yes, even as you are _my_ pride. And even as I have placed this wreath of oak-leaves upon your head, so will the day come when you are accorded one of laurels. ~The Man.~~ But look again. Here are other magnates of my native town advancing to pay me their respects. They make low bows--yes, to the very ground--and say, "Our town rejoices at having been accorded the honour of----" ~His Wife.~~ Oh! ~The Man.~~ What is it? ~His Wife.~~ I have found a bottle of milk I ~The Man.~~ Surely not? ~His Wife.~~ And bread!--beautiful spiced bread!--and a cigar! ~The Man.~~ Impossible! You must be joking. Or you must have mistaken some of the damp from these accursed walls for milk. ~His Wife.~~ No, no. Indeed I have not. ~The Man.~~ And a cigar! Cigars do not grow on windowsills. They cost money, and have to be bought in shops. What you see is only a piece of black twig, or something of the kind. ~His Wife.~~ But look for yourself. I am sure it must be the neighbours who have left these things for us. ~The Man.~~ The neighbours? Well, of a truth they may have been the instruments, but the work has been the work of God himself. And even if it were devils who have brought the things here, it should not prevent you from coming and sitting on my knee, little wife. [_The Man's Wife seats herself upon his knee, and they proceed to eat; she breaking off little bits of bread, and placing them between his lips, while he feeds her with milk out of the bottle._] ~The Man.~~ I believe it is cream, it looks so good. ~His Wife.~~ No, it is milk. You must bite your bread more carefully, or you will choke. ~The Man.~~ No, no, I shall not. Let me have some more of the crust--of that nice brown crust. ~His Wife.~~ But I am _sure_ you will choke before you have finished. ~The Man.~~ No, no. See how easily I swallow. ~His Wife.~~ You are making the milk run down my neck! How dreadfully it tickles! ~The Man.~~ Then let me lick it up. Not a drop of it ought to be wasted. ~His Wife.~~ How thrifty you are growing! ~The Man.~~ Be ready. Now, then! Quick!--Ah, everything good comes to an end too soon. I believe that this bottle must have got a false bottom to it, to make it look deeper. What rascally fellows those bottlemakers are! [_The Man lights the cigar, and sinks back in the attitude of a blissfully tired man, while his wife ties her hair with the new riband, and goes to look at herself in the darkness of the window-panes._] ~The Man.~~ This cigar must have cost a fortune, it is so mellow and strong. In future I mean always to smoke this brand of cigars. ~His Wife.~~ But do you not see how nice I look? ~The Man.~~ Yes, I see. I see the new riband, and I see, too, that you wish me to kiss your pretty little neck. ~His Wife.~~ But I will not allow it, sir. You are getting much too free. Puff away at your cigar if you wish, but my neck---- ~The Man.~~