as robin and his father sat at the small dining-table (which the youth himself had made out of a packing-case, painting the rough wood which would not take a polish), conversation flowed freely. robin, as usual, engrossed the larger share.

“this fowl, if somewhat tough since it was running about an hour ago, is to my mind as good as the turkey, with legs tied up with white satin ribbon, which figured at the wedding breakfast. what a display we had there!—potted tongues, potted beef, hams, creams and jellies, and a huge cake, of course, iced and covered all over with fancy designs; it was such a work of art that it seemed a shame to eat it. the bride’s health was drunk in sparkling champagne. i think that her health would have had a better chance if all the rupees gulped down to do honour to the toast had been kept to give her a better house.”

mr. hartley smiled and nodded assent.

“i own that i did grudge the expense,” said robin, “when i heard the popping of so many corks. i wondered, also, what the bride would do with her elegant white satin dress in a jungle like this, with only the kites and crows to see it! if there had been simpler dressing and plainer feeding, we might have had a good third room to the little dwelling, and had the bricks pakka throughout!”

“you seem to have been pleased with your new sister,” observed mr. hartley; “i care less to hear of the dress than of the wearer.”

“i am more than pleased with alicia. she has one of the sweetest faces that ever i saw, with eyes soft and large like those of a gazelle, yet sometimes sparkling with fun. alicia’s complexion is fair, but a little too pale, except when she flushes, as she did with fright on the first evening after my arrival. she certainly has uncommonly weak nerves.”

“what caused her alarm?” asked the father.

“oh, merely a poor little bat that, attracted by the lights, went noiselessly wheeling and circling around the room. alicia started, trembled, put up her hands, almost screamed when the creature’s shadowy flight brought it within a foot of her head! it was difficult to keep from laughing. then when the intruder had been expelled, alicia asked me anxiously whether she would find many snakes at talwandi. ‘not till the weather is warmer,’ said i; ‘at present they keep snug in their holes.’ alicia did not look reassured. ‘can you not kill them?’ she asked. ‘i always do when they come within reach of my arm,’ i replied. ‘i’ll cut a stick for you to have handy if ever a snake pay you a visit.’ you should have seen her look!” continued robin, laughing at the recollection. “i think that the snakes are in little danger from alicia’s prowess; i doubt whether she would be a match for a baby scorpion.”

“i am sorry my new daughter is so timid,” observed mr. hartley: “such nervousness may cause her distress in a wild place like this—twenty miles from civilized life, and these twenty miles of the roughest of roads.”

“i wonder how much of the lady’s luggage will survive the jolting and bumping?” said robin. “alicia has a number of wedding presents, enough to half furnish a shop. they were all put out to be admired, and they covered three tables and, i think, two chairs besides.”

“where shall we put them?” asked mr. hartley.

“a question i’ve asked myself twenty times, but i have never succeeded in finding an answer. there is a piano, too, which alicia is to play on, and i am to tune, though i have never tuned one in my life! some of the presents seemed to me funny. there were three silver fish-knives in satin-lined cases; but where, oh where shall we find the fish?” robin burst into a merry laugh as he added, “if any one had consulted me as to what would be an acceptable gift, i should have suggested a big kitchen kettle or a dozen good iron spoons.”

“you must try the jhil [lake] for fish,” said mr. hartley.

“one clock (there were two) took my fancy,” continued robin. “the design on the top was evidently taken from moore’s song about the love-lorn mermaid who was in pity transformed into a harp. there was the siren as the poet described her:—

‘her hair, dropping tears from all its bright rings,

fell over her white arm to make the gold strings.’

i thought, if her lover had been true, and had married the mermaid, how would the lady have enjoyed her new strange life on shore? after floating about serenely on summer seas, how would the mermaid have enjoyed being jolted along in an ekká [a very rough country conveyance], or even being swung from a camel? it would have been a sad change for the poor siren, who would have felt like a fish out of water.”

mr. hartley saw that his son was not thinking alone of the fabled siren, and he observed with his quiet smile,—“sad indeed for her to exchange her native element for another quite uncongenial, unless she were gifted with wings to raise her to one higher and purer than either water or earth.”

“i think that alicia has such wings,” said robin more gravely: “she seems to be truly, earnestly pious. had she not been so, she would never have been harold’s choice. alicia spoke to me so nicely about helping in mission work. she has begun to read the bible to her ayah, and has learned by heart all the first part of the parable of the prodigal son—in urdu.”

“good!” was mr. hartley’s laconic comment.

“alicia speaks the language like—well, of course not like a native, nor very grammatically neither, but very fairly indeed for a lady who has been but one cold season in india, and has had only servants on whom to practise. i daresay that in time she will make herself understood even by zamindars’ bibis [wives]. only i’m afraid she’ll have—”

“what?” inquired mr. hartley as his son stopped short.

“headaches,” responded robin.

“many missionaries have headaches,” observed his father, who was now seldom without one.

“yes; but some can take headaches, and other aches too, as a hunter takes a hedge: it lies in his way; he goes over it or scrambles through it, spurs on, and is in at the death. but not every one is a hunter.”

“you think, in short, that our bride has been too delicately nurtured, is of too soft a nature, too sensitive a frame, to bear the rough life which is before her?” said mr. hartley.

“i think that we’re transplanting an exotic which requires a glass frame,” replied robin; “and we’ve nothing for it but a hard, rough wall, exposed to rude blasts. but i forget,” the youth continued, resuming the cheerful tone which was natural to him, “our sweet exotic will have a fine strong pillar to lean on and cling to; and with the sunshine above and the pure air around her she may—yes, and will—rise higher and higher, till she may smile down on us all.”