"Yes; that one Darrel wrote for him: 'Here lies Tunk. O Grave! where is thy victory?'"
"Tunk has one merit: he never deceived any one but himself," said the widow.
"Horses have run away with him," Trove continued. "His character is like a broken buggy; and his imagination—that's the unbroken colt. Every day, for a long time, the colt has run away with the wagon, tipping it over and dragging it in the ditch, until every bolt is loose, and every spoke rattling, and every wheel awry. I do hope he's repaired his 'ex.'"
"He walks better and complains less," the widow answered.
"Often he stands very straight and walks like you," said Polly, laughing.
"He thinks you are the only great man," so spoke the widow.
"Gone from one illusion to another," said Trove. "It's a lesson; every one should go softly. Tom, will you now describe the melancholy feat of Theophilus Thistleton?"
The fable was quickly repeated.
"That Mr. Thistleton was a foolish fellow, and there's many like him," said Trove. "He had better have been thrusting blueberries into his mouth. I declare!" he added, sitting back with a look of surprise, "I'm happy again."
"And we are going to keep you so," Polly answered with decision.