Wilkinson vouchsafed no reply.  He was in deep and earnest thought about something.  Taking silence for consent, Coristine tripped down the hill a few yards, with a square india rubber article in his hand.  It had a brass mouthpiece that partly screwed off, when it was desirable to inflate it with air, as a cushion, pillow, or life-preserver, or to fill it with hot water to take the place of a warming-pan.  Now, at the spring by the roadside, he rinsed it well out, and then filled it with clear cold water, which he brought back to the place where the schoolmaster was leaning on his stick and pondering.  Replacing the knapsack, out of which the india rubber bag had come, the lawyer prepared to continue the ascent.  In order to rouse his reflective friend, he said, “Wilks, my boy, you’ve dropped your fossils.”

“I fear, Corry, that I have lost all interest in fossils.”

“Sure, that Grinstun man’s enough to give a man a scunner at fossils for the rest of his life.”

“It is not exactly that, Corry,” replied the truthful dominie; “but I need my staff and my handkerchief, and I think I will leave the specimens on the road, all except these two Asaphoi, the perplexing, bewildering relics of antiquity.  This world is full of perplexities still, Corry.”  So saying, the dominie sighed, emptied his bandanna of all but the two fossils, which he transferred to his pocket, and, with staff in hand, recommenced the upward journey.  In ten minutes they were on the summit, and beheld the far-off figure of the working geologist on the further slope.  In both directions the view was magnificent.  They sat by the roadside on a leafy bank overshaded with cool branches, and, producing the reduplication of the Barrie stores procured the night before at Collingwood, proceeded to lunch al fresco.  The contents of the india rubber bag, qualified with the spirit in their flasks, cheered the hearts of the pedestrians and made them more inclined to look on the bright side of life.  Justice having been done to the biscuits and cheese, Coristine lit his pipe, while the dominie took a turn at Wordsworth.

With musical intonation, Wilkinson read aloud:—­

     Some thought he was a lover, and did woo: 
     Some thought far worse of him, and judged him wrong: 
     But verse was what he had been wedded to;
     And his own mind did like a tempest strong
     Come to him thus, and drove the weary wight along.

     With him there often walked in friendly guise,
     Or lay upon the moss by brook or tree,
     A noticeable man with large grey eyes,
     And a pale face that seemed undoubtedly
     As if a blooming face it ought to be;
     Heavy his low-hung lip did oft appear,
     Depress’d by weight of musing phantasy;
     Profound his forehead was, though not severe;
     Yet some did think that he had little business here.