Freed from these necessities, that happy year, I began to know my wife by sight.  We saw each other sometimes.  In those long mornings, when Dennis was in the study explaining to map-peddlers that I had eleven maps of Jerusalem already, and to school-book agents that I would see them hanged before I would be bribed to introduce their textbooks into the schools—­she and I were at work together, as in those old dreamy days—­and in these of our log-cabin again.  But all this could not last—­and at length poor Dennis, my double, overtasked in turn, undid me.

It was thus it happened.  There is an excellent fellow—­once a minister—­I will call him Isaacs—­who deserves well of the world till he dies, and after—­because he once, in a real exigency, did the right thing, in the right way, at the right time, as no other man could do it.  In the world’s great football match, the ball by chance found him loitering on the outside of the field; he closed with it, “camped” it, charged, it home—­yes, right through the other side—­not disturbed, not frightened by his own success—­and breathless found himself a great man—­as the Great Delta rang applause.  But he did not find himself a rich man; and the football has never come in his way again.  From that moment to this moment he has been of no use, that one can see, at all.  Still, for that great act we speak of Isaacs gratefully and remember him kindly; and he forges on, hoping to meet the football somewhere again.  In that vague hope, he had arranged a “movement” for a general organization of the human family into Debating Clubs, County Societies, State Unions, etc., etc., with a view of inducing all children to take hold of the handles of their knives and forks, instead of the metal.  Children have bad habits in that way.  The movement, of course, was absurd; but we all did our best to forward, not it, but him.  It came time for the annual county-meeting on this subject to be held at Naguadavick.  Isaacs came round, good fellow! to arrange for it—­got the townhall, got the Governor to preside (the saint!—­he ought to have triplet doubles provided him by law), and then came to get me to speak.  “No,” I said, “I would not speak, if ten Governors presided.  I do not believe in the enterprise.  If I spoke, it should be to say children should take hold of the prongs of the forks and the blades of the knives.  I would subscribe ten dollars, but I would not speak a mill.”  So poor Isaacs went his way, sadly, to coax Auchmuty to speak, and Delafield.  I went out.  Not long after, he came back, and told Polly that they had promised to speak—­the Governor would speak—­and he himself would close with the quarterly report, and some interesting anecdotes regarding.  Miss Biffin’s way of handling her knife and Mr. Nellis’s way of footing his fork.  “Now if Mr. Ingham will only come and sit on the platform, he need not say one word; but it will show well in the paper—­it will show that the Sandemanians take as much interest