Before the following Saturday afternoon Charley's spirits had somewhat recovered their natural tone. Not that he was in a happy frame of mind; the united energies of Mr. M'Ruen and Mrs. Davis had been too powerful to allow of that; not that he had given over his projected plan of saying a long farewell to Mrs. Woodward, or at any rate of telling her something of his position; he still felt that he could not continue to live on terms of close intimacy both with her daughters and with Norah Geraghty. But the spirits of youth are ever buoyant, and the spirits of no one could be endowed, with more natural buoyancy than those of the young navvy. Charley, therefore, in spite of his misfortunes, was ready with his manuscript when Saturday afternoon arrived, and, according to agreement, met Norman at the railway station. Only one evening had intervened since the night in which he had ratified his matrimonial engagement, and in spite of the delicate nature of his position he had for that evening allowed Mr. Peppermint to exercise his eloquence on the heart of the fair Norah without interruption. He the while had been engaged in completing the memoirs of 'Crinoline and Macassar.' 'Well, Charley,' they asked, one and all, as soon as he reached the Cottage, 'have you got the story? Have you brought the manuscript? Is it all finished and ready for that dreadful editor?' Charley produced a roll, and Linda and Katie instantly pounced upon it. 'Oh! it begins with poetry,' said Linda. 'I am so glad,' said Katie. 'Is there much poetry in it, Charley? I do so hope there is.' 'Not a word of it,' said Charley; 'that which Linda sees is a song that the heroine is singing, and it isn't supposed to be written by the author at all.' 'I'm so sorry that there's no poetry,' said Katie. 'Can't you write poetry, Charley?' 'At any rate there's lots of love in it,' said Linda, who was turning over the pages. 'Is there?' said Katie. 'Well, that's next best; but they should go together. You should have put all your love into verse, Charley, and then your prose would have done for the funny parts.' 'Perhaps it's all fun,' said Mrs. Woodward. 'But come, girls, this is not fair; I won't let you look at the story till it's read in full committee.' And so saying, Mrs. Woodward took the papers from her daughters, and tying them up, deposited them safe in custody. 'We'll have it out when the tea-things are gone.'