He thanked me, and, tumbling over a sack of potatoes, plunged head foremost into his punt and departed.

Next morning, I asked him if he had seen the comet.

“No, sir, I couldn’t see it anywhere.”

“Did you look?”

“Yees, sir.  I looked a long time.”

“How on earth did you manage to miss it then?” I exclaimed.  “It was a clear enough night.  Where did you look?”

“In our garden, sir.  Where you told me.”

“Whereabouts in the garden?” chimed in Amenda, who happened to be standing by; “under the gooseberry bushes?”

“Yees—­everywhere.”

That is what he had done:  he had taken the stable lantern and searched the garden for it.

But the day when he broke even his own record for foolishness happened about three weeks later.  MacShaughnassy was staying with us at the time, and on the Friday evening he mixed us a salad, according to a recipe given him by his aunt.  On the Saturday morning, everybody was, of course, very ill.  Everybody always is very ill after partaking of any dish prepared by MacShaughnassy.  Some people attempt to explain this fact by talking glibly of “cause and effect.”  MacShaughnassy maintains that it is simply coincidence.

“How do you know,” he says, “that you wouldn’t have been ill if you hadn’t eaten any?  You’re queer enough now, any one can see, and I’m very sorry for you; but, for all that you can tell, if you hadn’t eaten any of that stuff you might have been very much worse—­perhaps dead.  In all probability, it has saved your life.”  And for the rest of the day, he assumes towards you the attitude of a man who has dragged you from the grave.

The moment Jimmy arrived I seized hold of him.

“Jimmy,” I said, “you must rush off to the chemist’s immediately.  Don’t stop for anything.  Tell him to give you something for colic—­the result of vegetable poisoning.  It must be something very strong, and enough for four.  Don’t forget, something to counteract the effects of vegetable poisoning.  Hurry up, or it may be too late.”

My excitement communicated itself to the boy.  He tumbled back into his punt, and pushed off vigorously.  I watched him land, and disappear in the direction of the village.

Half an hour passed, but Jimmy did not return.  No one felt sufficiently energetic to go after him.  We had only just strength enough to sit still and feebly abuse him.  At the end of an hour we were all feeling very much better.  At the end of an hour and a half we were glad he had not returned when he ought to have, and were only curious as to what had become of him.

In the evening, strolling through the village, we saw him sitting by the open door of his mother’s cottage, with a shawl wrapped round him.  He was looking worn and ill.

“Why, Jimmy,” I said, “what’s the matter?  Why didn’t you come back this morning?”