“Bring your little sister and let her look at my things some time —­ while you and me we look at each other.  It is good to look at one’s friend sometime.”

“I have often found it so, Mr. Herder.  I will certainly bring Winnie if I can.”

“Do you not go nowhere?” said the naturalist as if a thought had struck him.  “What is de reason that I do not meet you at Mr. Haye’s no more?”

“I go almost nowhere, sir.”

“You are wrong,” said the naturalist.  “You are not right.  Dere is more will miss you than me; and there is somebody there who wants you to take care of her.”

“I hope you are mistaken, sir.”

“She wants somebody to take care of her,” said Mr. Herder; “and I do not know nobody so good as you.  I am serious.  She is just as afraid as ever one should take care of her, and poor thing she wants it all the more.  She will not let your brother do it neizer.”

“Do you think he is trying, Mr. Herder?” Winthrop said coolly.

“I believe he would be too glad! he looks at her so hard as he can; but she will not look at the tops of his fingers.  She does not know what she shall do wiz herself, she is so mad wiz her father’s new wife.”

“What has she been doing?” Winthrop asked.

“Who, Rose? —­ she has not done nozing, but to marry Elisabet’s father, and for that she never will forgive her.  I am sorry —­ he was foolish man. —­ Wint’rop, you must not shut yourself up here —­ you will be directly rich —­ you must find yourself a wife next thing.”

“Why should a lawyer have a wife any more than a philosopher?” said Winthrop.

“A philosopher,” said Mr. Herder, with the slightest comical expression upon his broad face, —­ “has enough for him to do to take care of truth —­ he has not time to take care of his wife too.  While I was hunting after de truth, my wife would forget me.”

“Does it take you so long for a hunt?”

“I am doing it all de time,” said the naturalist; “it is what I spend my life for.  I live for that.”

The last words were spoken with a quiet deliberation which told their truth.  And if the grave mouth of the other might have said ‘I live for truth’ too, it would not have belied his thoughts.  But it was truth of another kind.

Winnie watched the course of this piece of business of Mr. Herder’s with the most eager anxiety.  That is, what there was to watch, for proceedings were slow.  The very folio pages of that ‘Bill,’ that she saw Winthrop writing, were scrolls of interest and mysterious charm to Winnie’s eyes, like nothing surely that other eyes could find in them.  Certainly not the eyes of Mr. Ryle and his lawyer.  Winnie watched the bill folded up and superscribed, standing over her brother with her hand on his shoulder.

“What is that about, now, Governor? —­ what is it to do?”

“It charges Mr. Ryle and his brother with malpractices, Winnie —­ with dealing unfairly by Mr. Lansing.”