That's a lad of mony lives!" Strickland, halting by the rose-bush, looked at Mother Binning.

"I suppose we call it 'wisdom' when two feel alike.

Now that's just what I feel about Alexander Jardine! It's just feeling without rationality." "Eh ?" "There isn't any reason in it." "I dinna know about 'reason.' There's _being_ in it." The tutor made as if to speak further, then, with a shake of his head, thought better of it.

Thirty-five years old, he had been a tutor since he was twenty, dwelling, in all, in four or five more or less considerable houses and families.

Experience, adding itself to innate good sense, had made him slow to discuss idiosyncrasies of patrons or pupils.