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"What about Harris?" he suggested. "I don't like Harris's ways," said Barber, slowly. "Well, what about Fletcher?" said Nibletts. "Fletcher's ways are worse than wot Harris's ways are," commented Captain Barber. "I can understand you being careful," said Captain Nibletts; "she's the prettiest little craft that ever sailed out of Seabridge. You can't be too careful.".
A day or two before the appointed date a maid, who was serving him with breakfast, clumsily dropped the tea-kettle upon his leg, scalding him so severely that he had to take to his bed. While there the ship sailed, and in view of Fletcher's later life, it is a striking fact that she was never heard of again. Though desperately disappointed, Fletcher was as keen as ever on becoming a soldier.
For ten paces outwards from the tree-trunk there stretched a pitted path. Abiram, as George came, turned at this path's extremity; set his sloe eye upon the dull white patch in Mr. Fletcher's stern; hurled forward up the track; sprang and snapped jaws an inch below the mark as Mr. Fletcher mightily heaved. A lesser dog would have yapped bafflement, fruitlessly scratched upwards from hind legs.
He neither looked nor listened, but boldly pushed the door and stepped inside. The big room was full of men, and every face pivoted toward him. Knell's pale face flashed into Duane's swift sight; then Boldt's, then Blossom Kane's, then Panhandle Smith's, then Fletcher's, then others that were familiar, and last that of Poggin. Though Duane had never seen Poggin or heard him described, he knew him.
It was a beautiful summer morning, and the voices of the children within accorded well with the notes of birds and bleating flocks without a cheerful, yet Sabbath-like and quieting sound. "Blessed be children's music!" said I to myself; "how much better this is than the solitary tick, tick, of old Uncle Fletcher's tall mahogany clock!"
So far the most interesting compositions we have had to consider Daniel's Hymen's Triumph, Fletcher's Faithful Shepherdess, Randolph's Amyntas have been attempts either to transplant the Italian pastoral as it stood, or else so to modify and adapt as to fit it to the very different conditions of the English stage.
Christie felt all this, enjoyed it, and tried to be grateful for it in the way he wished, thinking that hearts could be managed like children, and when one toy is unattainable, be appeased by a bigger or a brighter one of another sort. "I must love some one," she said, as she leaned over a basket of magnificent flowers just left for her by Mr. Fletcher's servant, a thing which often happened now.
The thought of his work engrossed him at the instant, and it was with something of a start that he became conscious presently of Maria Fletcher's voice at his back. Wheeling about dizzily, he found her leaning on the old rail fence, regarding him with shining eyes in which the tears seemed hardly dried. "I have just left Will," she said; "the doctor has set his leg and he is sleeping.
From this reproach I have, I conceive, sufficiently exculpated Shakspeare; it is rather merited by many of Fletcher's pieces. When, indeed, the imagination has a share in the composition, then it is far from being as necessary that all should be accurately connected together by cause and effect, as when the whole is framed and held together exclusively by the understanding.
Fletcher's disappearance; a disappearance, by the way, which caused Mr. Power much satisfaction, though he only betrayed it by added kindness to Christie, and in his manner an increased respect very comforting to her. But she missed her lover, for nothing now broke up the monotony of a useful life.
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