The Oxonian rubbed his eyes, and stared at the man with a vague impression that he had seen him before;--when? where? "You can cure me," he stuttered out; "what of?--the folly of trying to speak in public? Thank you, I am cured." "Nay, sir, you see before you a man who can make you a very good speaker. Your voice is naturally fine. I repeat, I can cure a defect which is not in the organ, but in the management!" "You can! you--who and what are you?" "A basketmaker, sir; I hope for your custom." "Surely this is not the first time I have seen you?" "True, you once kindly suffered me to borrow a resting-place on your father's land. One good turn deserves another." At that moment Sir Isaac peered through the brambles, and restored to his original whiteness, and relieved from his false, horned ears, marched gravely towards the water, sniffed at the scholar, slightly wagged his tail, and buried himself amongst the reeds in search of a water-rat he had therein disturbed a week before, and always expected to find again. The sight of the dog immediately cleared up the cloud in the scholar's memory; but with recognition came back a keen curiosity and a sharp pang of remorse. "And your little girl?" he asked, looking down abashed. "Better than she was when we last met. Providence is so kind to us." Poor Waife! He never guessed that to the person he thus revealed himself he owed the grief for Sophy's abduction. He divined no reason for the scholar's flushing cheek and embarrassed manner. "Yes, sir, we have just settled in this neighbourhood. I have a pretty cottage yonder at the outskirts of the village, and near the park pales. I recognized you at once; and as I heard you just now, I called to mind that when we met before, you said your calling should be the Church, were it not for your difficulty in utterance; and I said to myself, 'No bad thing those pebbles, if his utterance were thick, which is it not;' and I have not a doubt, sir, that the true fault of Demosthenes, whom I presume you are imitating, was that he spoke through his nose." "Eh!" said the scholar, "through his nose? I never knew that?--and I--" "And you are trying to speak without lungs; that is without air in them. You don't smoke, I presume?" "No; certainly not." "You must learn; speak between each slow puff of your pipe. All you want is time,--time to quiet the nerves, time to think, time to breathe. The moment you begin to stammer, stop, fill the lungs thus, then try again! It is only a clever man who can learn to write,--that is, to compose; but any fool can be taught to speak. Courage!" "If you really can teach me," cried the learned man, forgetting all self- reproach for his betrayal of Waife to Mrs. Crane in the absorbing interest of the hope that sprang up within him, "if you can teach me; if I can but con-con-con--conq--" "Slowly, slowly, breath and time; take a whiff from my pipe; that's right. Yes, you can conquer the impediment."