It was the end of an old pencil,--the part without any lead.
"This was really his," said Harriet.--"Do not you remember one morning ?--no, I dare say you do not.

But one morning--I forget exactly the day--but perhaps it was the Tuesday or Wednesday before _that_ _evening_, he wanted to make a memorandum in his pocket-book; it was about spruce-beer.

Mr.Knightley had been telling him something about brewing spruce-beer, and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out his pencil, there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table as good for nothing.

But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that moment." "I do remember it," cried Emma; "I perfectly remember it .-- Talking about spruce-beer .-- Oh! yes--Mr.Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr.Elton's seeming resolved to learn to like it too.

I perfectly remember it .-- Stop; Mr.Knightley was standing just here, was not he?
I have an idea he was standing just here." "Ah! I do not know.