"It's no use my trying to explain that, Sally. It's a saying, and a true one I dare say. But about Billy Spike. He was the poorest and the happiest man in the world, and all the philosophy of life was contained in his saying, 'What I don't get is profit.' 'Billy,' I said to him, 'what do you mean by it?' He looked at me with his eyes twinkling. 'Seth Dumbrick,' said he, 'you're a man of sense. Look at me. Here I am.' And he stood up straight before me, showing large holes in his coat, under his arms, and being generally a picture of rags. 'If,' said I, 'all the profit you make comes from what you've got, and not from what you haven't got, your returns must be small.' 'I've got a pair of arms, Seth Dumbrick,' said Billy. 'Thank you for nothing,' said I. 'You call that nothing!' cried Billy. 'Wait a bit. My limbs are all sound, my eyesight's good. I never had a headache or a toothache in my life, and I sleep like a top. Now, tell me who's that crossing the road?' It was a sailor we knew who hopped through life on a wooden leg. Me and Billy and the wooden-legged sailor went and had a glass together, and Billy drew the sailor out to tell us all about the miseries of having only one leg--what shootings he had in the one that was chopped off--yes, he said that, Sally, though it does sound funny--and how he couldn't walk where he wanted to walk, and couldn't do what he wanted to do, all through having a wooden leg. It was plain enough that his wooden leg made him real unhappy and miserable. When he was gone Billy Spike said to me, with a wink, 'What I don't get is profit: I don't get wooden legs.' Just then we saw a woman that we knew; her face was twice its proper size, and she had a bandage round it. 'What's the matter, mother?' asked Billy Spike. 'I'm almost dead with the pain, Billy,' she said. 'I've been and had two of my teeth out at the hospital and the doctor's almost broke my jaw. It's enough to drive a poor woman mad.' 'The toothache is,' said Billy. 'Yes, the toothache,' said she; 'I've had it on and off for the last twenty years, and I'm pretty well crazed with it.' Billy Spike winked at me again. 'What I don't get is profit. I don't get toothaches.' Then we came across a blind man, and Billy drew him out, and a pretty bad case it was. 'I'd sooner be dead than alive,' said he. He couldn't see the wink that Billy gave. What I don't get is profit,' said Billy. 'I don't get blind.' And so Billy would have gone on all the day, I don't doubt, if I hadn't already caught his meaning."
In which respect Seth had the advantage of those to whom he was relating, as a possibly useful lesson, this story of Billy Spike's philosophy. Sally's face denoted that she did not see the application, and the Duchess said again, "I wish I was rich." So Seth resolved to throw aside philosophy as not suitable for the occasion, and to devote himself entirely to pleasure. It was none the less sweet because it was taken in a modest humble way, and because it cost but little money. Country walks, rides in carts and wagons, generally given for nothing--for the beauty of the Duchess soon attracted admirers even in this out-of-the-way spot--frolics in hayfields, rambles by the seaside, fully occupied their hours, and did not afford opportunity for a moment's weariness. And one day a travelling photographer passed their road and offered to "take" the Duchess for a song, as the saying is. Being an artist he saw the value of Seth's suggestion that she should be taken standing in a framework of ivy leaves, and the prettiest of pictures was produced. The photographer, falling in love with his work, and seeing future profit in it, took negatives of the Duchess in various attitudes, she falling into them so naturally as to excite his wonder and admiration. In truth it was a task which pleased and delighted her. Seth, shrewd as he always was, and careful of his pocket as he was compelled to be, made a good bargain with the artist, and for a very small sum obtained copies of all their portraits: the Duchess in three different positions, Sally in one, Sally and the Duchess together, and lastly, himself with the children on either side of him. The day following this excitement another pleasure came. The old wagoner who had driven them from London arrived early in the morning with Daisy and Cornflower, and after giving them the most beautiful ride in their holiday, took them to his own cottage where he had lived from boyhood. There his old wife awaited them, and feasted the party to their hearts' content, and a peaceful ride back in the peaceful night was the fitting ending to the happy day. So the time passed on until one morning Seth said to Sally.
"Home to-morrow, Sally."
She sighed with grateful regret.
"Our little girl is better than ever she was," he continued, with a fond look at the Duchess, "and we'll endeavour to keep her so. Such roses as these"--caressing the Duchess's cheek--"will be something for the Rosemary Lane folk to stare at. They've never seen such bright ones before. We've had a happy time, haven't we?"
"Yes, yes," they both replied, nestling to him.
"Let us be thankful, then----"
"For what we haven't had?" asked Sally, with a sly look.
"No," he said with a laugh, "for what we have enjoyed;" adding in a graver tone, "I never thought the world was so good as it is."
On the second evening from this they returned to Rosemary Lane, and were received with smiles and hearty welcome by all.