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Chapter 3 THE SOUL OF THE SCHOOLBOY

  • A LARGE map of London would be needed to display the wild and zigzag course o_ne day's journey undertaken by an uncle and his nephew; or, to speak mor_ruly, of a nephew and his uncle. For the nephew, a schoolboy on a holiday, was in theory the god in the car, or in the cab, tram, tube, and so on, whil_is uncle was at most a priest dancing before him and offering sacrifices. T_ut it more soberly, the schoolboy had something of the stolid air of a youn_uke doing the grand tour, while his elderly relative was reduced to th_osition of a courier, who nevertheless had to pay for everything like _atron. The schoolboy was officially known as Summers Minor, and in a mor_ocial manner as Stinks, the only public tribute to his career as an amateu_hotographer and electrician. The uncle was the Rev. Thomas Twyford, a lea_nd lively old gentleman with a red, eager face and white hair. He was in th_rdinary way a country clergyman, but he was one of those who achieve th_aradox of being famous in an obscure way, because they are famous in a_bscure world. In a small circle of ecclesiastical archaeologists, who wer_he only people who could even understand one another's discoveries, h_ccupied a recognized and respectable place. And a critic might have foun_ven in that day's journey at least as much of the uncle's hobby as of th_ephew's holiday.
  • His original purpose had been wholly paternal and festive. But, like man_ther intelligent people, he was not above the weakness of playing with a to_o amuse himself, on the theory that it would amuse a child. His toys wer_rowns and miters and croziers and swords of state; and he had lingered ove_hem, telling himself that the boy ought to see all the sights of London. An_t the end of the day, after a tremendous tea, he rather gave the game away b_inding up with a visit in which hardly any human boy could be conceived a_aking an interest—an underground chamber supposed to have been a chapel, recently excavated on the north bank of the Thames, and containing literall_othing whatever but one old silver coin. But the coin, to those who knew, wa_ore solitary and splendid than the Koh-i-noor. It was Roman, and was said t_ear the head of St. Paul; and round it raged the most vital controversie_bout the ancient British Church. It could hardly be denied, however, that th_ontroversies left Summers Minor comparatively cold.
  • Indeed, the things that interested Summers Minor, and the things that did no_nterest him, had mystified and amused his uncle for several hours. H_xhibited the English schoolboy's startling ignorance and startlin_nowledge—knowledge of some special classification in which he can generall_orrect and confound his elders. He considered himself entitled, at Hampto_ourt on a holiday, to forget the very names of Cardinal Wolsey or William o_range; but he could hardly be dragged from some details about the arrangemen_f the electric bells in the neighboring hotel. He was solidly dazed b_estminster Abbey, which is not so unnatural since that church became th_umber room of the larger and less successful statuary of the eighteent_entury. But he had a magic and minute knowledge of the Westminster omnibuses, and indeed of the whole omnibus system of London, the colors and numbers o_hich he knew as a herald knows heraldry. He would cry out against a momentar_onfusion between a light-green Paddington and a dark-green Bayswater vehicle, as his uncle would at the identification of a Greek ikon and a Roman image.
  • "Do you collect omnibuses like stamps?" asked his uncle. "They must need _ather large album. Or do you keep them in your locker?"
  • "I keep them in my head," replied the nephew, with legitimate firmness.
  • "It does you credit, I admit," replied the clergyman. "I suppose it were vai_o ask for what purpose you have learned that out of a thousand things. Ther_ardly seems to be a career in it, unless you could be permanently on th_avement to prevent old ladies getting into the wrong bus. Well, we must ge_ut of this one, for this is our place. I want to show you what they call St.
  • Paul's Penny."
  • "Is it like St. Paul's Cathedral?" asked the youth with resignation, as the_lighted.
  • At the entrance their eyes were arrested by a singular figure evidentl_overing there with a similar anxiety to enter. It was that of a dark, thi_an in a long black robe rather like a cassock; but the black cap on his hea_as of too strange a shape to be a biretta. It suggested, rather, some archai_eaddress of Persia or Babylon. He had a curious black beard appearing only a_he corners of his chin, and his large eyes were oddly set in his face lik_he flat decorative eyes painted in old Egyptian profiles. Before they ha_athered more than a general impression of him, he had dived into the doorwa_hat was their own destination.
  • Nothing could be seen above ground of the sunken sanctuary except a stron_ooden hut, of the sort recently run up for many military and officia_urposes, the wooden floor of which was indeed a mere platform over th_xcavated cavity below. A soldier stood as a sentry outside, and a superio_oldier, an Anglo-Indian officer of distinction, sat writing at the des_nside. Indeed, the sightseers soon found that this particular sight wa_urrounded with the most extraordinary precautions. I have compared the silve_oin to the Koh-i-noor, and in one sense it was even conventionall_omparable, since by a historical accident it was at one time almost counte_mong the Crown jewels, or at least the Crown relics, until one of the roya_rinces publicly restored it to the shrine to which it was supposed to belong.
  • Other causes combined to concentrate official vigilance upon it; there ha_een a scare about spies carrying explosives in small objects, and one o_hose experimental orders which pass like waves over bureaucracy had decree_irst that all visitors should change their clothes for a sort of officia_ackcloth, and then (when this method caused some murmurs) that they should a_east turn out their pockets. Colonel Morris, the officer in charge, was _hort, active man with a grim and leathery face, but a lively and humorou_ye—a contradiction borne out by his conduct, for he at once derided th_afeguards and yet insisted on them.
  • "I don't care a button myself for Paul's Penny, or such things," he admitte_n answer to some antiquarian openings from the clergyman who was slightl_cquainted with him, "but I wear the King's coat, you know, and it's a seriou_hing when the King's uncle leaves a thing here with his own hands under m_harge. But as for saints and relics and things, I fear I'm a bit of _oltairian; what you would call a skeptic."
  • "I'm not sure it's even skeptical to believe in the royal family and not i_he 'Holy' Family," replied Mr. Twyford. "But, of course, I can easily empt_y pockets, to show I don't carry a bomb."
  • The little heap of the parson's possessions which he left on the tabl_onsisted chiefly of papers, over and above a pipe and a tobacco pouch an_ome Roman and Saxon coins. The rest were catalogues of old books, an_amphlets, like one entitled "The Use of Sarum," one glance at which wa_ufficient both for the colonel and the schoolboy. They could not see the us_f Sarum at all. The contents of the boy's pockets naturally made a large_eap, and included marbles, a ball of string, an electric torch, a magnet, _mall catapult, and, of course, a large pocketknife, almost to be described a_ small tool box, a complex apparatus on which he seemed disposed to linger, pointing out that it included a pair of nippers, a tool for punching holes i_ood, and, above all, an instrument for taking stones out of a horse's hoof.
  • The comparative absence of any horse he appeared to regard as irrelevant, a_f it were a mere appendage easily supplied. But when the turn came of th_entleman in the black gown, he did not turn out his pockets, but merel_pread out his hands.
  • "I have no possessions," he said.
  • "I'm afraid I must ask you to empty your pockets and make sure," observed th_olonel, gruffly.
  • "I have no pockets," said the stranger.
  • Mr. Twyford was looking at the long black gown with a learned eye.
  • "Are you a monk?" he asked, in a puzzled fashion.
  • "I am a magus," replied the stranger. "You have heard of the magi, perhaps? _m a magician."
  • "Oh, I say!" exclaimed Summers Minor, with prominent eyes.
  • "But I was once a monk," went on the other. "I am what you would call a_scaped monk. Yes, I have escaped into eternity. But the monks held one trut_t least, that the highest life should be without possessions. I have n_ocket money and no pockets, and all the stars are my trinkets."
  • "They are out of reach, anyhow," observed Colonel Morris, in a tone whic_uggested that it was well for them. "I've known a good many magicians mysel_n India—mango plant and all. But the Indian ones are all frauds, I'll swear.
  • In fact, I had a good deal of fun showing them up. More fun than I have ove_his dreary job, anyhow. But here comes Mr. Symon, who will show you over th_ld cellar downstairs."
  • Mr. Symon, the official guardian and guide, was a young man, prematurely gray, with a grave mouth which contrasted curiously with a very small, dark mustach_ith waxed points, that seemed somehow, separate from it, as if a black fl_ad settled on his face. He spoke with the accent of Oxford and the permanen_fficial, but in as dead a fashion as the most indifferent hired guide. The_escended a dark stone staircase, at the floor of which Symon pressed a butto_nd a door opened on a dark room, or, rather, a room which had an instan_efore been dark. For almost as the heavy iron door swung open an almos_linding blaze of electric lights filled the whole interior. The fitfu_nthusiasm of Stinks at once caught fire, and he eagerly asked if the light_nd the door worked together.
  • "Yes, it's all one system," replied Symon. "It was all fitted up for the da_is Royal Highness deposited the thing here. You see, it's locked up behind _lass case exactly as he left it."
  • A glance showed that the arrangements for guarding the treasure were indeed a_trong as they were simple. A single pane of glass cut off one corner of th_oom, in an iron framework let into the rock walls and the wooden roof above; there was now no possibility of reopening the case without elaborate labor, except by breaking the glass, which would probably arouse the night watchma_ho was always within a few feet of it, even if he had fallen asleep. A clos_xamination would have showed many more ingenious safeguards; but the eye o_he Rev. Thomas Twyford, at least, was already riveted on what interested hi_uch more—the dull silver disk which shone in the white light against a plai_ackground of black velvet.
  • "St. Paul's Penny, said to commemorate the visit of St. Paul to Britain, wa_robably preserved in this chapel until the eighth century," Symon was sayin_n his clear but colorless voice. "In the ninth century it is supposed to hav_een carried away by the barbarians, and it reappears, after the conversion o_he northern Goths, in the possession of the royal family of Gothland. Hi_oyal Highness, the Duke of Gothland, retained it always in his own privat_ustody, and when he decided to exhibit it to the public, placed it here wit_is own hand. It was immediately sealed up in such a manner—"
  • Unluckily at this point Summers Minor, whose attention had somewhat straye_rom the religious wars of the ninth century, caught sight of a short lengt_f wire appearing in a broken patch in the wall. He precipitated himself a_t, calling out, "I say, does that connect?"
  • It was evident that it did connect, for no sooner had the boy given it _witch than the whole room went black, as if they had all been struck blind, and an instant afterward they heard the dull crash of the closing door.
  • "Well, you've done it now," said Symon, in his tranquil fashion. Then after _ause he added, "I suppose they'll miss us sooner or later, and no doubt the_an get it open; but it may take some little time."
  • There was a silence, and then the unconquerable Stinks observed:
  • "Rotten that I had to leave my electric torch."
  • "I think," said his uncle, with restraint, "that we are sufficiently convince_f your interest in electricity."
  • Then after a pause he remarked, more amiably: "I suppose if I regretted any o_y own impedimenta, it would be the pipe. Though, as a matter of fact, it'_ot much fun smoking in the dark. Everything seems different in the dark."
  • "Everything is different in the dark," said a third voice, that of the man wh_alled himself a magician. It was a very musical voice, and rather in contras_ith his sinister and swarthy visage, which was now invisible. "Perhaps yo_on't know how terrible a truth that is. All you see are pictures made by th_un, faces and furniture and flowers and trees. The things themselves may b_uite strange to you. Something else may be standing now where you saw a tabl_r a chair. The face of your friend may be quite different in the dark."
  • A short, indescribable noise broke the stillness. Twyford started for _econd, and then said, sharply:
  • "Really, I don't think it's a suitable occasion for trying to frighten _hild."
  • "Who's a child?" cried the indignant Summers, with a voice that had a crow, but also something of a crack in it. "And who's a funk, either? Not me."
  • "I will be silent, then," said the other voice out of the darkness. "Bu_ilence also makes and unmakes."
  • The required silence remained unbroken for a long time until at last th_lergyman said to Symon in a low voice:
  • "I suppose it's all right about air?"
  • "Oh, yes," replied the other aloud; "there's a fireplace and a chimney in th_ffice just by the door."
  • A bound and the noise of a falling chair told them that the irrepressibl_ising generation had once more thrown itself across the room. They heard th_jaculation: "A chimney! Why, I'll be—" and the rest was lost in muffled, bu_xultant, cries.
  • The uncle called repeatedly and vainly, groped his way at last to the opening, and, peering up it, caught a glimpse of a disk of daylight, which seemed t_uggest that the fugitive had vanished in safety. Making his way back to th_roup by the glass case, he fell over the fallen chair and took a moment t_ollect himself again. He had opened his mouth to speak to Symon, when h_topped, and suddenly found himself blinking in the full shock of the whit_ight, and looking over the other man's shoulder, he saw that the door wa_tanding open.
  • "So they've got at us at last," he observed to Symon.
  • The man in the black robe was leaning against the wall some yards away, with _mile carved on his face.
  • "Here comes Colonel Morris," went on Twyford, still speaking to Symon. "One o_s will have to tell him how the light went out. Will you?"
  • But Symon still said nothing. He was standing as still as a statue, an_ooking steadily at the black velvet behind the glass screen. He was lookin_t the black velvet because there was nothing else to look at. St. Paul'_enny was gone.
  • Colonel Morris entered the room with two new visitors; presumably two ne_ightseers delayed by the accident. The foremost was a tall, fair, rathe_anguid-looking man with a bald brow and a high-bridged nose; his companio_as a younger man with light, curly hair and frank, and even innocent, eyes.
  • Symon scarcely seemed to hear the newcomers; it seemed almost as if he had no_ealized that the return of the light revealed his brooding attitude. Then h_tarted in a guilty fashion, and when he saw the elder of the two strangers, his pale face seemed to turn a shade paler.
  • "Why it's Horne Fisher!" and then after a pause he said in a low voice, "I'_n the devil of a hole, Fisher."
  • "There does seem a bit of a mystery to be cleared up," observed the gentlema_o addressed.
  • "It will never be cleared up," said the pale Symon. "If anybody could clear i_p, you could. But nobody could."
  • "I rather think I could," said another voice from outside the group, and the_urned in surprise to realize that the man in the black robe had spoken again.
  • "You!" said the colonel, sharply. "And how do you propose to play th_etective?"
  • "I do not propose to play the detective," answered the other, in a clear voic_ike a bell. "I propose to play the magician. One of the magicians you show u_n India, Colonel."
  • No one spoke for a moment, and then Horne Fisher surprised everybody b_aying, "Well, let's go upstairs, and this gentleman can have a try."
  • He stopped Symon, who had an automatic finger on the button, saying: "No, leave all the lights on. It's a sort of safeguard."
  • "The thing can't be taken away now," said Symon, bitterly.
  • "It can be put back," replied Fisher.
  • Twyford had already run upstairs for news of his vanishing nephew, and h_eceived news of him in a way that at once puzzled and reassured him. On th_loor above lay one of those large paper darts which boys throw at each othe_hen the schoolmaster is out of the room. It had evidently been thrown in a_he window, and on being unfolded displayed a scrawl of bad handwriting whic_an: "Dear Uncle; I am all right. Meet you at the hotel later on," and the_he signature.
  • Insensibly comforted by this, the clergyman found his thoughts revertin_oluntarily to his favorite relic, which came a good second in his sympathie_o his favorite nephew, and before he knew where he was he found himsel_ncircled by the group discussing its loss, and more or less carried away o_he current of their excitement. But an undercurrent of query continued to ru_n his mind, as to what had really happened to the boy, and what was the boy'_xact definition of being all right.
  • Meanwhile Horne Fisher had considerably puzzled everybody with his new ton_nd attitude. He had talked to the colonel about the military and mechanica_rrangements, and displayed a remarkable knowledge both of the details o_iscipline and the technicalities of electricity. He had talked to th_lergyman, and shown an equally surprising knowledge of the religious an_istorical interests involved in the relic. He had talked to the man wh_alled himself a magician, and not only surprised but scandalized the compan_y an equally sympathetic familiarity with the most fantastic forms o_riental occultism and psychic experiment. And in this last and leas_espectable line of inquiry he was evidently prepared to go farthest; h_penly encouraged the magician, and was plainly prepared to follow the wildes_ays of investigation in which that magus might lead him.
  • "How would you begin now?" he inquired, with an anxious politeness tha_educed the colonel to a congestion of rage.
  • "It is all a question of a force; of establishing communications for a force,"
  • replied that adept, affably, ignoring some military mutterings about th_olice force. "It is what you in the West used to call animal magnetism, bu_t is much more than that. I had better not say how much more. As to settin_bout it, the usual method is to throw some susceptible person into a trance, which serves as a sort of bridge or cord of communication, by which the forc_eyond can give him, as it were, an electric shock, and awaken his highe_enses. It opens the sleeping eye of the mind."
  • "I'm suspectible," said Fisher, either with simplicity or with a bafflin_rony. "Why not open my mind's eye for me? My friend Harold March here wil_ell you I sometimes see things, even in the dark."
  • "Nobody sees anything except in the dark," said the magician.
  • Heavy clouds of sunset were closing round the wooden hut, enormous clouds, o_hich only the corners could be seen in the little window, like purple horn_nd tails, almost as if some huge monsters were prowling round the place. Bu_he purple was already deepening to dark gray; it would soon be night.
  • "Do not light the lamp," said the magus with quiet authority, arresting _ovement in that direction. "I told you before that things happen only in th_ark."
  • How such a topsy-turvy scene ever came to be tolerated in the colonel'_ffice, of all places, was afterward a puzzle in the memory of many, includin_he colonel. They recalled it like a sort of nightmare, like something the_ould not control. Perhaps there was really a magnetism about the mesmerist; perhaps there was even more magnetism about the man mesmerized. Anyhow, th_an was being mesmerized, for Horne Fisher had collapsed into a chair with hi_ong limbs loose and sprawling and his eyes staring at vacancy; and the othe_an was mesmerizing him, making sweeping movements with his darkly draped arm_s if with black wings. The colonel had passed the point of explosion, and h_imly realized that eccentric aristocrats are allowed their fling. H_omforted himself with the knowledge that he had already sent for the police, who would break up any such masquerade, and with lighting a cigar, the red en_f which, in the gathering darkness, glowed with protest.
  • "Yes, I see pockets," the man in the trance was saying. "I see many pockets, but they are all empty. No; I see one pocket that is not empty."
  • There was a faint stir in the stillness, and the magician said, "Can you se_hat is in the pocket?"
  • "Yes," answered the other; "there are two bright things. I think they are tw_its of steel. One of the pieces of steel is bent or crooked."
  • "Have they been used in the removal of the relic from downstairs?"
  • "Yes."
  • There was another pause and the inquirer added, "Do you see anything of th_elic itself?"
  • "I see something shining on the floor, like the shadow or the ghost of it. I_s over there in the corner beyond the desk."
  • There was a movement of men turning and then a sudden stillness, as of thei_tiffening, for over in the corner on the wooden floor there was really _ound spot of pale light. It was the only spot of light in the room. The ciga_ad gone out.
  • "It points the way," came the voice of the oracle. "The spirits are pointin_he way to penitence, and urging the thief to restitution. I can see nothin_ore." His voice trailed off into a silence that lasted solidly for man_inutes, like the long silence below when the theft had been committed. The_t was broken by the ring of metal on the floor, and the sound of somethin_pinning and falling like a tossed halfpenny.
  • "Light the lamp!" cried Fisher in a loud and even jovial voice, leaping to hi_eet with far less languor than usual. "I must be going now, but I should lik_o see it before I go. Why, I came on purpose to see it."
  • The lamp was lit, and he did see it, for St. Paul's Penny was lying on th_loor at his feet.
  • "Oh, as for that," explained Fisher, when he was entertaining March an_wyford at lunch about a month later, "I merely wanted to play with th_agician at his own game."
  • "I thought you meant to catch him in his own trap," said Twyford. "I can'_ake head or tail of anything yet, but to my mind he was always the suspect. _on't think he was necessarily a thief in the vulgar sense. The police alway_eem to think that silver is stolen for the sake of silver, but a thing lik_hat might well be stolen out of some religious mania. A runaway monk turne_ystic might well want it for some mystical purpose."
  • "No," replied Fisher, "the runaway monk is not a thief. At any rate he is no_he thief. And he's not altogether a liar, either. He said one true thing a_east that night."
  • "And what was that?" inquired March.
  • "He said it was all magnetism. As a matter of fact, it was done by means of _agnet." Then, seeing they still looked puzzled, he added, "It was that to_agnet belonging to your nephew, Mr. Twyford."
  • "But I don't understand," objected March. "If it was done with the schoolboy'_agnet, I suppose it was done by the schoolboy."
  • "Well," replied Fisher, reflectively, "it rather depends which schoolboy."
  • "What on earth do you mean?"
  • "The soul of a schoolboy is a curious thing," Fisher continued, in _editative manner. "It can survive a great many things besides climbing out o_ chimney. A man can grow gray in great campaigns, and still have the soul o_ schoolboy. A man can return with a great reputation from India and be put i_harge of a great public treasure, and still have the soul of a schoolboy, waiting to be awakened by an accident. And it is ten times more so when to th_choolboy you add the skeptic, who is generally a sort of stunted schoolboy.
  • You said just now that things might be done by religious mania. Have you eve_eard of irreligious mania? I assure you it exists very violently, especiall_n men who like showing up magicians in India. But here the skeptic had th_emptation of showing up a much more tremendous sham nearer home."
  • A light came into Harold March's eyes as he suddenly saw, as if afar off, th_ider implication of the suggestion. But Twyford was still wrestling with on_roblem at a time.
  • "Do you really mean," he said, "that Colonel Morris took the relic?"
  • "He was the only person who could use the magnet," replied Fisher. "In fact, your obliging nephew left him a number of things he could use. He had a bal_f string, and an instrument for making a hole in the wooden floor—I made _ittle play with that hole in the floor in my trance, by the way; with th_ights left on below, it shone like a new shilling." Twyford suddenly bounde_n his chair. "But in that case," he cried, in a new and altered voice, "wh_hen of course— You said a piece of steel—?"
  • "I said there were two pieces of steel," said Fisher. "The bent piece of stee_as the boy's magnet. The other was the relic in the glass case."
  • "But that is silver," answered the archaeologist, in a voice now almos_nrecognizable.
  • "Oh," replied Fisher, soothingly, "I dare say it was painted with silver _ittle."
  • There was a heavy silence, and at last Harold March said, "But where is th_eal relic?"
  • "Where it has been for five years," replied Horne Fisher, "in the possessio_f a mad millionaire named Vandam, in Nebraska. There was a playful littl_hotograph about him in a society paper the other day, mentioning hi_elusion, and saying he was always being taken in about relics."
  • Harold March frowned at the tablecloth; then, after an interval, he said: "_hink I understand your notion of how the thing was actually done; accordin_o that, Morris just made a hole and fished it up with a magnet at the end o_ string. Such a monkey trick looks like mere madness, but I suppose he wa_ad, partly with the boredom of watching over what he felt was a fraud, thoug_e couldn't prove it. Then came a chance to prove it, to himself at least, an_e had what he called 'fun' with it. Yes, I think I see a lot of details now.
  • But it's just the whole thing that knocks me. How did it all come to be lik_hat?"
  • Fisher was looking at him with level lids and an immovable manner.
  • "Every precaution was taken," he said. "The Duke carried the relic on his ow_erson, and locked it up in the case with his own hands."
  • March was silent; but Twyford stammered. "I don't understand you. You give m_he creeps. Why don't you speak plainer?"
  • "If I spoke plainer you would understand me less," said Horne Fisher.
  • "All the same I should try," said March, still without lifting his head.
  • "Oh, very well," replied Fisher, with a sigh; "the plain truth is, of course, that it's a bad business. Everybody knows it's a bad business who know_nything about it. But it's always happening, and in one way one can hardl_lame them. They get stuck on to a foreign princess that's as stiff as a Dutc_oll, and they have their fling. In this case it was a pretty big fling."
  • The face of the Rev. Thomas Twyford certainly suggested that he was a littl_ut of his depth in the seas of truth, but as the other went on speakin_aguely the old gentleman's features sharpened and set.
  • "If it were some decent morganatic affair I wouldn't say; but he must hav_een a fool to throw away thousands on a woman like that. At the end it wa_heer blackmail; but it's something that the old ass didn't get it out of th_axpayers. He could only get it out of the Yank, and there you are."
  • The Rev. Thomas Twyford had risen to his feet.
  • "Well, I'm glad my nephew had nothing to do with it," he said. "And if that'_hat the world is like, I hope he will never have anything to do with it."
  • "I hope not," answered Horne Fisher. "No one knows so well as I do that on_an have far too much to do with it."
  • For Summers Minor had indeed nothing to do with it; and it is part of hi_igher significance that he has really nothing to do with the story, or wit_ny such stories. The boy went like a bullet through the tangle of this tal_f crooked politics and crazy mockery and came out on the other side, pursuin_is own unspoiled purposes. From the top of the chimney he climbed he ha_aught sight of a new omnibus, whose color and name he had never known, as _aturalist might see a new bird or a botanist a new flower. And he had bee_ufficiently enraptured in rushing after it, and riding away upon that fair_hip.