LCEDINE CUNCTOS DUCIT ET I

d contrived to get it published by subscription in a thin octavo volume of 232 pages, measuring nine by five a

description of the little town. (He ever insisted in calling it a town, no

n of the littoral line, in which cleft lies the little town of Polpier. Tall hills, abrupt and rugged, shut in a deep and tortuous valley, formed by the meeting of smaller coombs; houses, which seem dropped rather than bui

orts this Mr Barrabell (though an accountant for most of the privateering companies in Polpier) to have been a timorous man: and that once the Doctor, returning home in the small hours from a midwifery case, found his neighbour and his neighbour's wife hiding together under his bed-clothes. Upon an alarm that Bonaparte was in the town, they had bridged the stream with a ladder to the Doctor's open window and clambered across in their night-clothes. It is reported also that, on the transit, Mrs Barrabell was heard to say, "Go forward, Theophilus! Th' Old Doctor knows all about me, if he

apoleonic peril. They passed, and he survived to die in times of peace, leaving (as has been told) a local history for his memorial

sy-for he was a wonder with pencil and brush-transferring to paper the outline and markings of a specimen and its perishable exquisite colours; working rapidly while he listened to the account of its capture, and maybe pausing now and again to pencil a note on the margin of the portrait. They told, too, of his ways-how for a whole month he came forth from his front door in a crouching posture, almost on all fours, so as not to disturb the work of a diadem spider that had chosen to build its web across th

ly large bedroom above it. The old Doctor's own bedroom it had been, and was remarkable for an open fireplace with two large recessed cupboards let into a wall, which measured a good four feet in depth beyond the chimney-breast. Once, in cleaning out the cupboards, Nicky-Nan had discovered in the right-hand one that one or two boards of the flooring w

uses in Polpier have similar recesses, constructed (it is said) as hiding-

hat a brother of the old Doctor's- the scapegrace of the family-had hung it (the key of his quadrant) there, with strong injunctions that no one should take it down until he returned-which he never did. So Mrs Penhaligon's feather-brush always spared this one spot in the room, every other inch of which she kept scrupulously dusted. She would not for worlds have exchanged lodgings with Nicky-Nan, though his was by far the best bed

of a friend and messmate, to whom he had transferred all the loyalty of his heart, set him questioning many things in a silent way. He had never been able to dissipate affection or friendship: and his feelings when hurt, being sensitive as the horns of a snail, with

as a brisk upstanding lad, sociable enough, though maybe a trifle shy- edged away from the taciturn man who returned to them. N

-notably Mrs Polsue, t

er, a bitter spinster

er abo

day of grace when his term among them expired and he was "planned" for some other place where Christianity did not matter as it did in Polpier. They gave various reasons for t

me, when I told him about Bestwetherick's daughter and how she'd got herself into trouble at last, all he c

weak as to do it?" said

afeard the Lord'd visit it on me. . . . An' then it came out he'd Know

, Cherry Oliver! It's my belief that man

ngs, Mary-Martha Polsue, or

o be hand-in-glove with the Pope. I tell you I saw the pair meet this very Wednesday down by the bridge as I happened t

-Nan's atheism, presumed upon his neglect to attend public worship, the Ministe

erved. "You have noticed it, doubtless? . .. Yes, yes-about Nanjivell . . .

" Mrs Polsue

week upon treacle. Beer, in small glass jars, is also recommended. I trust that if you ladies see me issuing from the Three Pilchards to-morrow with a jug of beer, you will make it your business to protect my character. The purchase

Miss Oliv

o say-it's a pity that, in a small town like Polpier, two ministers of religion cannot between them keep a general shop to suit all

e have to sit under a m

Oliver on the

Nanjivells had been of good "haveage" (lineage) in their time. They had counted in the family a real Admiral, of whom Nicky-Nan had inherited a portrait in oil-colours. It hung in the parlour-kitchen underneath his bedroom, b

esides enabling him to rent the tenement in the Doctor's House, and to make it habitable with a few sticks of furniture. Also he rented a potato-patch, beyond the coastguard's hut, around th

he had managed his affairs-until four year

s a small hard cyst low down at the back of the right thigh, incommoding him when he bent his knee. He called it "a nut in the

er him as if it had been stabbed, and he rolled into the scuppers in intolerable anguish. For a week after this Nicky-Nan nursed himself ashore, and it was given out that he had twisted his knee-cap. He did not call in a doctor, although the swelling took on a red and angry hue. As a fa

t own to anything worse than a twisted knee, even when his neighbours on the Quay, putting their heads toge

mpts to resume his old occupation. But in the smallest lop of a sea he was useless, so tha

n ordinary circumstances, knowing Nicky-Nan to be an honest man, he would have treated him easily. But he wanted to "develope" Polpier to his own advantage: and his scheme of development centred on t

chance of resisting. Still-had Nicky-Nan known it-Mr Pamphlett, like many another bank manager, had been caught and thrown in a heap by the sudden swoop of War. Over

ky-Nan inopportunely reminded him of it; and in his forgetfulness, being testy with overwork,

n boiled potatoes with a touch of butter, pepper and salt, washed down with water, a drink he

acuation there must be. The enemy had miscalculated. He figured it out two or three times ove

sday a great many t

ing. Among them, Europe- wire answering w

ht, He slept soon, but ill, and awoke before midnight to the sound-as it seemed-of sobbing. Something was wrong with the Penhaligon's children? Ye

ing given it a thought before

ng back from his cliff-patch with a basket of potatoes in one hand and with the other using the shaft of his mattock (or "visgy" in Polpier language) for

ere yesterday? Or has my memory los

ut Peter Hosken left with me, to take turn an' tur

d asked: and the coastg

together, neighbour. Ad

ated through his dream, came

Well, suppose it was War? . . . that again might be the saving of him. Folks mightn't be able to serve Ejectment Orders in time of War. . . . Besides, now he came to think of it, back in the week there had been so

gain into a sleep punct

his slumber grew deeper and und

ed early in the night. Then, with a start, he knew it to be something qui

bed, opened his door, an

Hullo!"- catching sight of Bill Varco, coastguardsman,

a little fellow from the Customs there, and I be sent round with first news. I've two dozen yet to warn . . . In the King's nam

an paused a moment, hobbled back to bed and sat on

s to get me out," he decided,