Then came _Motes in a Moonbeam, Interstellar Harmonics_, and _Berthe aux grands Pieds_ within eighteen months, so that before he was quite thirty, in the space of two years, Barty had produced five works--three in English and two in French--which, though merely novels and novelettes, have had as wide and far-reaching an influence on modern thought as the _Origin of Species_, that appeared about the same time, and which are such, for simplicity of expression, exposition, and idea, that an intelligent ploughboy can get all the good and all the pleasure from them almost as easily as any philosopher or sage. Such was Barty's début as a man of letters. This is not the place to criticise his literary work, nor am I the proper person to do so; enough has been written already about Barty Josselin during his lifetime to fill a large library--in nearly every language there is. I tremble to think of what has yet to follow! [Illustration: "'RATAPLAN, RATAPLAN'"] _Sardonyx_ came of age nearly twelve years ago--what a coming of age that was the reader will remember well. I shall not forget its celebration at Marsfield; it happened to coincide with the birth of Barty's first grandchild, at that very house. I will now go back to Barty's private life, which is the sole object of this humble attempt at book-making on my part. During the next ten years Barty's literary activity was immense. Beautiful books followed each other in rapid succession--and so did beautiful little Bartys, and Leah's hands were full. And as each book, English or French, was more beautiful than the last; so was each little Barty, male or female. All over Kensington and Campden Hill--for they took Gretna Lodge, next door to Cornelys, the sculptor's--the splendor of these little Bartys, their size, their beauty, their health and high spirits, became almost a joke, and their mother became almost a comic character in consequence--like the old lady who lived in a shoe. Money poured in with a profusion few writers of good books have ever known before, and every penny not wanted for immediate household expenses was pounced upon by Scatcherd or by me to be invested in the manner we thought best: nous avons eu la main heureuse! The Josselins kept open house, and money was not to be despised, little as Barty ever thought of money. Then every autumn the entire smalah migrated to the coast of Normandy, or Picardy, or Brittany, or to the Highlands of Inverness, and with them the Scatcherds and the chronicler of these happy times--not to mention cats, dogs, and squirrels, and guinea-pigs, and white mice, and birds of all kinds, from which the children would not be parted, and the real care of which, both at home and abroad, ultimately devolved on poor Mrs. Josselin--who was not so fond of animals as all that--so that her life was full to overflowing of household cares.