before the lawyer went in to breakfast, his patient bade him an affectionate farewell, adding, “s’haylp me, Mr. Corstine, ef I don’t be true to my word to you and the old woman about that blamed liquor.  What I had I turned out o’ doors this mornin’, fust thing, and I shaant take in no more.  That there bailiff’s done me a good turn, and I won’t ferget him, nor you nuther, Doctor, ef so be it’s in my power to haylp you any.”  Coristine took his leave of the simple-hearted fellow, and went to join the company at the breakfast table.  Mr. Nash was there, but, for convenience of eating and not to astonish the host and hostess, he had placed his beard and moustache in his pocket.  It was handy, however, and could be replaced at a moment’s warning.

Batiste brought round the detective’s horse, and the lawyer, in borrowed riding gaiters, bestrode him, hooking on to the back of the saddle a bundle somewhat larger than a cavalry man’s rolled-up cloak.  The bundle contained Mr. Nash’s selected properties.  That gentleman allowed Madame to fasten the straps of Coristine’s knapsack on his shoulders, while Pierre did the same for Wilkinson.  The dominie had paid the bill the night before, as he objected to commercial transactions on Sunday, so there was nothing to do but to say good bye, bestow a trifle on Batiste and take to the road.  The detective, after they had done half a mile’s pleasant walking, took command of the expedition, and ordered The Cavalry, as Coristine called himself, to trot forward and make a reconnoisance.  His instructions were to get to the Carruthers’ house in advance of the pedestrians, to find out exactly who were there, and to return with speed and report at headquarters, which would be somewhere on the road.  Saluting his friend and his superior officer, the lawyer trotted off, his steed as well pleased as himself to travel more speedily through the balmy atmosphere of the morning.  The dominie and his quondam assistant were thus left to pursue their journey in company.

“Do you enjoy Wordsworth, Mr. Nash?” asked Wilkinson.

“Oh yes,” replied the detective, “the poet, you mean, We are seven, and the primrose by the river’s brim.  Queer old file in the stamp business he must have been.  Wish I could make $2,500 a year like him, doing next to nothing.”

“There is a passage that seems to my mind appropriate.  It is:—­

     Us humbler ceremonies now await;
     But in the bosom with devout respect,
     The banner of our joy we will erect,
     And strength of love our souls shall elevate;
     For, to a few collected in His name. 
     The heavenly Father will incline His ear. 
     Hallowing Himself the service which they frame. 
     Awake! the majesty of God revere! 
       Go—­and with foreheads meekly bow’d,
       Present your prayer:  go—­and rejoice aloud—­
     The Holy One will hear!”

“You should have been a parson, Mr. Wilkinson; you do that well.  I’d like to take lessons from you; it would help me tremendously in my profession.  But I find it mighty hard to do the solemn.  That time in your school was almost too much for me, and your friend twigged my make-up last night.”