LOW PEICES AND LONG FACES. 155 



"Any chance of its rising again, d'ye think, 

 Sir?" 



Still no answer. The question could not have ap- 

 plied to the Sun. for his great, red, merry counte- 

 nance was already beginning to peep, enormously 



big, over hill, like some welcome-faced friend, 



half behind the door, glowing with the knowledge 

 how the heart of him, or her, who sits within will 

 rush presently to tear away the screen that separates 

 them. It could not be the Sun : for he is half up 

 now, and yet no answer from that thoughtful-look- 

 ing Quixote, that sits his mare as if he was riding 

 in a dream, #nd had lost the power of utterance. 

 It was strange, too ; for he had been no* moody 

 companion from the time farmer Greening's trotting 

 nag overtook him on the road : and if he had been, 

 Mr. Greening wasn't the man to have hailed him in 

 the merry way he did, and especially in such times : 

 he would have gone by with the respectful, and self- 

 respectful, morning salute of one who never in- 

 truded, nor retreated, on life's highway, in the 

 matter of companionship. But that question 

 what was there in it that had stopped the way- 

 cheer of discourse, and set one of the parties 

 thinking like an oracle? It was lucky that his mare 

 happened to make a false step as he turned her from 



