The object of civilization being always to settle people one way or the other, the Mayor of Gatesboro’ entertains a statesmanlike ambition to settle Gentleman Waife; no doubt a wise conception, and in accordance with the genius of the Nation. Every session of Parliament England is employed in settling folks, whether at home or at the Antipodes, who ignorantly object to be settled in her way; in short, “I’ll settle them,” has become a vulgar idiom, tantamount to a threat of uttermost extermination or smash; therefore the Mayor of Gatesboro’ harbouring that benignant idea with reference to “Gentleman Waife,” all kindly readers will exclaim, “Dii meliora! What will he do with it?” The doll once more safe behind the pillow, Sophy’s face gradually softened; she bent forward, touched the Mayor’s hand timidly, and looked at him with pleading, penitent eyes, still wet with tears,--eyes that said, though the lips were silent, “I’ll not hate you. I was ungrateful and peevish; may I beg pardon?” “I forgive you with all my heart,” cried the Mayor, interpreting the look aright. “And now try and compose yourself and sleep while I talk with your grandpapa below.” “I don’t see how it is possible that I can leave her,” said Waife, when the two men had adjourned to the sitting-room. “I am sure,” quoth the Mayor, seriously, “that it is the best thing for her: her pulse has much nervous excitability; she wants a complete rest; she ought not to move about with you on any account. But come: though I must not know, it seems, who and what you are, Mr. Chapman, I don’t think you will run off with my cow; and if you like to stay at the bailiff’s cottage for a week or two with your grandchild, you shall be left in peace, and asked no questions. I will own to you a weakness of mine: I value myself on being seldom or never taken in. I don’t think I could forgive the man who did take me in. But taken in I certainly shall be, if, despite all your mystery, you are not as honest a fellow as ever stood upon shoe-leather! So come to the cottage.”