And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. " "Never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed Mrs. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. You understand that term?” Ann Veronica smiled faintly. "A bad business this, Van," observed Baptist, with a prolonged shake of the head. "Aha!" exclaimed Jonathan, acting upon the information he had obtained from Wood; "I have found you at last. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity.
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