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 Mr. Skimpole, gaily, innocently, and confidingly, as he looked at his drawing with his head on one side ; “here yon see me utterly incapable of helping myself, and entirely in your hands ! I only ask to be free. The butterflies are free. Mankind will surely not deny to Harold Skimpole what it concedes to the butterflies !”

“My dear Miss Summerson,” said Richard, in a whisper, “I have ten pounds that I received from Mr. Kenge. I must try what that will do.”

I possessed fifteen pounds, odd shillings, which I had saved from my quarterly allowance during several years. I had always thought that some accident might happen which would throw me, suddenly, without any relation or any property, on the world ; and had always tried to keep some little money by me, that I might not be quite penniless. I told Richard of my having this little store, and having no present need of it ; and I asked him delicately to inform Mr. Skimpole, while I should be gone to fetch it, that we would have the pleasure of paying his debt.

When I came back, Mr. Skimpole kissed my hand, and seemed quite touched. Not on his own account (I was again aware of that perplexing and extraordinary contradiction), but on ours ; as if personal considerations were impossible with him, and the contemplation of our happiness alone affected him. Richard, begging me, for the greater grace of the transaction, as he said, to settle with Coavinses (as Mr. Skimpole now jocularly called him), I counted out the money and received the necessary acknowledgment. This, too, delighted Mr. Skimpole.

His compliments were so delicately administered, that I blushed less than I might have done ; and settled with the stranger in the white coat, without making any mistakes. He put the money in his pocket, and shortly said, “Well then, I′ll wish you a good evening, miss.”

“My friend,” said Mr. Skimpole, standing with his back to the fire, after giving up the sketch when it was half finished, “I should like to ask you something, without offence.”

I think the reply was, “Cut away, then!”

“Did you know this morning, now, that you were coming out on this errand ?” said Mr. Skimpole.

“Know′d it yes′day aft′noon at tea time,” said Coavinses.

“It didn′t affect your appetite? Didn′t make you at all imeasy?”

“Not a bit,” said Coavinses. “I know′d if you wos missed to-day, you wouldn′t be missed to-morrow. A day makes no such odds.”

“But when you came down here,” proceeded Mr. Skimpole, “it was a fine day. The sun was shining, the wind was blowing, the lights and shadows were passing across the fields, the birds were singing.”

“Nobody said they warn't, in my hearing,” returned Coavinses.

“No,” observed Mr. Skimpole. “But what did you think upon the road?”

“Wot do you mean?” growled Coavinses, with an appearance of strong resentment. “Think ! I′ve got enough to do, and little enough to get for it, without thinking. Thinking !” (with profound contempt.)

“Then you didn′t think, at all events,” proceeded Mr. Skimpole, “to this effect. ‘Harold Skimpole loves to see the sun shine ; loves to hear the wind blow ; loves to watch the changing lights and shadows ; loves to hear the birds, those choristers in Nature′s great cathedral. And