Little Lucy came and laid her head upon my shoulder and asked if it was all true. I tried to show her the truth that was hidden in the make-believe, but I fear with small success. Her eyelids were held open with difficulty as she continued to question me. "Is comets true?" "Comets?" I inquired; "what do you know of comets?" (One is about due now, and the children are on the tip-toe of excitement.) "Dada says they has long tails, an' runs up an' down the sky when I'se asleep, like little mouseys." "You are not afraid of them, are you?" I asked. "Dunno. I think I is afraid of them, but I always asks God." "What do you say?" I ventured. The little head was growing heavier, and it was a very sleepy voice that murmured: "God bless ev'ybody ... an' don't let them be 'ungry, so they won't die ... until You makes 'em ... 'cept it be comets an' things." Now what could anybody make of that? I carried the child home, and she did not wake when I undressed her and put her to bed. CHAPTER XIV BARJONA FALLS INTO THE TRAP "Arternoon, miss!" It certainly was afternoon, for only a few minutes earlier the little clock in my studio had chimed three, and I was not in the least expecting visitors, particularly of the paying kind, and was hard at work upon the accumulated negatives of Whitweek, when the blunt ejaculation caused me to turn with a start. My astonished eyes fell upon a transformed Barjona! Barjona in a frock coat of modern cut, with a white waistcoat, and slate-coloured trousers, correctly creased! Barjona, with a starched shirt and a satin tie, vividly blue! Above all, Barjona in a silk hat, which he was at that moment carefully removing from his head, as though anxious to prevent the escape of some bird imprisoned within! It was not a bird, however, that he captured and produced, but an elaborate "button-hole," properly wired, as one could see at a glance, and with its stems wrapped in silvered paper; and Barjona chuckled as he stepped to the mirror and adjusted it in the lapel of his coat. "Took that out quick, I can tell you.... Gives the show away, that does ... thought once over I'd throw it in t' gutter ... but I says, 'Nay, it cost fourpence' ... sixpence she asked for it ... sixpence ... mustn't waste it ... smarten up my photygraph, too.... No, no, mustn't waste fourpence!" "Why, Mr. Higgins," I exclaimed, "you must surely have been to a wedding! But none of our friends in Windyridge have been getting married to-day, have they?" "No, no ... Marsland Gap ... widow-woman ... name o' Robertsha' ... now Mrs. Higgins ... Mrs. S. B. Higgins ... she's in the trap now," jerking his head towards the roadway. This was too much for my gravity. I had just enough presence of mind to shake hands with him and offer my congratulations, and then gave way to uncontrollable laughter.