"But he couldn't take the house, nor yet look after it, vor us wasn't going to have him back again after the way he'd used us, and us wasn't going to have 'en letting or selling the place neither, and making money out of our misfortunes," said the Wallower in Wealth. "He tried to ruin us all, he ha' brought the Mudges to awful poverty, and he ha' pretty near drove the Dyers into the asylum, and he stole a musical box what ha' been in my family vor generations out o' mind. It wur a fine house, sure enough, but 'tis all gone now. There's nought left but foundations, and there's not much o' them, and you can't see 'em, vor they'm covered wi' gra.s.s. The trees be all cut down, and the shrubs ha' got moved, and the garden wall ain't there no longer. The house warn't there one day, and gone the next, as some volk say. It seemed to go so gradual that no one noticed it really was a leaving us. Us all knew why it wur going, and how it wur going; but us didn't talk about it much, vor what be everybody's business ain't n.o.body's business."

"The youngsters started it," said Squinting Jack. "They smashed the windows and got inside. They sort o' took possession of the place and played there every day. They played at soldiers mostly. One lot o'

children climbed up into the roof, and defended themselves wi' tiles and laths, while another lot attacked 'em wi' doors and window frames. And when they'd finished play, they took home all the broken stuff vor firewood. That wur the beginning, but in an amazing short time the house began to alter; it wur never the same place after the children got playing in it. When an old woman wanted wood vor the fire, she just went vor it; and when any one wanted a new door or window, they knew where one wur handy. Then one or two started building a cottage, and as the cottages went up Windward House come down. Some mornings us missed a bit o' wall what seemed to ha' fallen in the night, but n.o.body asked questions, vor us all had a hand in it, but there's no evidence to prove it. You won't find anything worth taking away now, not if you was to search wi' a miscroscope. The house didn't vanish away suddenly, not by no manner of means."

"It seemed to me," said the Gentle Shepherd, "as if it melted."

"It vanished in small pieces," added the Dumpy Philosopher.

The Wallower in Wealth had nothing more to say. The giant tortoise had transferred itself to his garden, having apparently engaged a wheelbarrow for that purpose. Either it was anxious to adopt the Wallower in Wealth, or he desired to study its habits in order that he too might attain eternal life. Or possibly he was determined to obtain some compensation for the lost musical box, through the possession of a genuine antique, which might with some propriety be styled the sole remaining item of the Captain's furniture.

The Dismal Gibcat said nothing whatever, although at one time he had been exceedingly loquacious. His was the only voice raised in protest against those who pillaged windows and door posts, or flitted at moonlight with joists and floorings. He publicly rebuked a poor old dame whom he caught staggering homeward with her ap.r.o.n full of laths. He explained the law as to wilful damage and petty larceny, and he dealt with the moral aspect of the matter till all were weary. Finally he announced his intention of protecting the property of the absentee owner by taking care of it for him: and he removed at least one half of the material and, by judicious guardianship of the same, succeeded in doubling the accommodation of his house.

George had no difficulty in speaking like a whale, but when he tried to talk like a sprat he made a mess of things. Therefore he could not bring Matilda and her mother to understand how a rascally trustee, whose name was Hunter, had sold his property and made off with the cash. They were sorry but firm; Matilda a.s.serting it cost very little to keep a woman; while her mother pointed out with considerable fluency that matrimony was always less expensive than breach of promise actions. George gave way--having a horror of the fierce light of publicity which beats upon law courts--and became very melancholy. Nor was he much restored to gaiety by the joys of married life; for Matilda rapidly developed a flow of small talk which astounded him; when George ordered her to bring him a cup of tea she prescribed herself a gla.s.s of beer; and when he called for his slippers she threw the dirty boots at his head and told him to clean them. Matrimony was not all bee-keeping and rose-pruning for George.

Still more tragic were affairs at Drivelford, where Nellie and Sidney had come to realise that, for them at least, the married state was unattainable. Old ladies can be very selfish sometimes, and in that stimulating atmosphere, which shared with many others the distinction of being the healthiest in the land, Miss Yard grew no weaker daily. She suffered from a slight cold last winter, but was all the better for it in the spring. Indeed in merry May-time she made the shocking suggestion that Sidney should teach her to ride the bicycle.

With such dispiriting examples as the Yellow Leaf, whose longevity was becoming a public scandal, and whose conduct was disgraceful, as he would not be refused his right to wed the youngest grandchild of one of his middle-aged connections; and the giant tortoise, who found fresh lettuces more luscious than the weeds of his fifteenth century diet; and the eternal obstacle, Miss Yard, who was continually giving children's parties because she felt so young herself; with such monuments of senile selfishness before them, Nellie and Sidney did indeed appear condemned to single blessedness.

But happily, according to the latest report from Drivelford, Miss Yard was not feeling very well. She was suffering from broken chilblains.

THE END