run, Amy, and tell the parson, and Mrs. Widdiwicket, and the schoolmaster, as Luke has been seen i' th' Indies."

Amy was in a hurry to throw on her shawl and bonnet, and away to the village; for we all like to tell a bit of news; it is a pleasure that we enjoy immensely, and yet don't reckon it amongst our pleasures. But we all feel like electric clouds charged with pleasant fire, and in haste to let it off. No sooner is the word dropped in one ear than it is out upon the tongue, and turns away to some other ear, and encircles round the world like sunshine. Amy had the pleasure of stopping two or three people before she got across the fields to the village, and telling them that Mrs. Barnicott had heard of Luke, and that he was a fine young sailor, and had been in the Indies and all over the world, and the young gentleman at the Dog and Partridge had brought the news, and had seen young Birchin of Cosser, who had sailed with him. Before Amy reached the clergyman's the news had slipped down the village, and was all over it, and flowing out at each end by people who were going to the neighbouring villages. Mrs. Widdiwicket had heard the news from the young gentleman in the parlour herself, and she said the young gentleman had hired her horse, and was gone to Cosser to see Sam Birchin's relations. As Amy issued into the street again, everybody was on the look-out for her, and she had to stop, to her great satisfaction, and tell the story again, and to correct some errors that had already got with it, for it was already said that the young gentleman, who had been at Mrs. Widdiwicket's all night, and had borrowed Mrs. Widdiwicket's horse, had been with Luke, and had sailed with him to the Indies and all over the world.

At the top of the village street stood Roddibottom, the schoolmaster, and Longdrawn, the clerk, and Sandy Spark, the blacksmith, discussing the whole affair, and they had already raised a great wonder how it happened that Luke had never sent word to his old grandmother that he was alive.

They were, moreover, now greatly disposed to lament the fate of Welland and his wife, who had been transported for life for having killed Luke when he was not killed, and were very near being hanged for it. The whole of Monnycrofts was in a state of ferment on this great discovery, and all the neighbouring villages soon partook of the excitement; and it very soon communicated itself to the county papers, and very wise reflections were attached to it on the dangers of condemning people on circumstantial evidence. It was thought that no time should be lost in recommending to Government to send out an order to recal Welland and his wife home. Meantime old Beckey herself had managed to hobble up to the mill, and thence to the Marlpool, where the story made the most amazing stir. All the people were soon out of doors discussing the affair, and those who had seen the chase on that memorable day pointed out all the incidents of it. They showed where little Luke was running when old Luke rushed down from the mill, and where he knocked down Welland and about twenty more, according to their account, and so they went through the whole story.

Beckey, and so indeed all the neighbourhood, was impatient for the return of the young man, but he had sent back Mrs. Widdiwicket's horse, and was staying a week with Sam Birchin's relations. When he re-appeared he was beset on all sides with questions regarding Luke, but he assured them he could not give them much further information, than that Luke was alive three years ago. He soon went to visit old Beckey again, who was delighted to see him, and had hoarded up a whole budget of questions to put to him. He informed her that his name was John Webster, that he came from Liverpool, and that he had sailed to many wonderful countries. He had been in the Indies, in North and South America, in China and Australia. As old Beckey sat and plied her knitting-needles, he asked her all the particulars about Luke, and about his death, as it was supposed to have been, and he assured her that he had written to Birchin to let him know all that he knew; everything about Luke Barnicott.

He continued to lodge at the Dog and Partridge, and had many conversations with Roddibottom, the schoolmaster, Nasal Longdrawn, the clerk, and all the rest of the village politicians who frequented that house; and he heard many different versions of the story of Luke from them, who all declared that, though he was very mischievous, he really had no ill in him, though they could not account for it why he had never let his poor grandmother know of his being alive. John Webster hired widow Widdiwicket's horse and rode about, and commended very much the country. The clergyman and Squire Flaggimore invited him to dine with them, and were greatly entertained with his account of foreign countries. But Webster used to go up to the Reckoning House as much as ever, and talk to the old widow Barnicott, who was never tired of hearing about the sea and foreign parts, because then she could imagine what Luke had seen. Webster told her all about the enormous whales at sea; how they used to see them come up near the ship, huge and black, and rear themselves up almost as high as a house, and then souse down again, and spout water up from their nostrils ever so high. And all about sharks, and flying-fish, and dolphins, and the beautiful nautiluses, and Portuguese men-of-war, that resemble the nautilus, but are only like little ships of gristle, but are beautifully painted as a rainbow, and they float about when the sea is calm as glass in the hot climates, and look like beautiful flowers on a plain of crystal. And of the sea-fire that rushes and flickers all round the ship at night, and sails past like great lamps in the dark blue water; and of storms; and wonderful birds; and of the mountains and great islands of ice that float about as white as snow in the solitary ocean, thousands of miles from land. And Beckey would drink it all in with hungry ears, and say, "And all that Luke has seen! How wonderful! But I wonder whether he has quite forgotten his poor old grandmother?"

Webster did not believe that he had. Sailors did not forget their relations; but most likely he thought his grandfather and grandmother were dead, and so he thought he had no connexions left. Then Webster told her about all the wonders of India, of grand towns, and palaces, and temples; and of its great nations of black people, and their pearls and jewels; of elephants, and tigers, and serpents; of palm-trees; and of the wonderful flowers and birds. He told her of the rich fruits, bananas, and pine-apples growing in the fields, and wonderful orange-groves and fig-trees. And then he told her of China and Japan, and the strange swarming yellow people, and all about the tea-plantations, where the tea she drank came from; and of the people who always live in boats; and of birds' nests that they make soup of. He told her at another time of the beautiful countries of South America and the West Indies, and all their palm and cocoa-nut, and bread-fruit trees; of their custard apples and sweet mangoes, and yams instead of potatoes, and a hundred of luscious fruits, and such beautiful flowers in the hedges—finer by far than in our gardens, or those Squire Flaggimore had in his conservatory.

"All these," said the wondering Beckey, "thou has seen, and my Luke has seen!"

"To be sure he has," said Webster; "and then the monkeys and apes as big as men, and great snakes that wrap themselves round bullocks, and squeeze them to death; and all the black men that are brought to those countries from Africa to cultivate the cotton, and sugar, and coffee, and spices, because it is too hot for white men."

Old Beckey was in a dream of wonder and of delight to hear what a world this was—how big, and strange, and beautiful, and how little the people of Monnycrofts and Marlpool knew about it; and yet Luke had seen it all. "And I would not be surprised if Luke had got a good deal of gold, for Birchin said he talked of going to Australia when he left the ship