'E didn't look no older'n you do now, an' you're a chicken compared to 'im.

You've wore badly like, not knowin' the use o' yerbs." "That's it!" said Helmsley, now following his companion over the stile and into the dark dewy fields beyond--"I need the advice of the Wise One! Has he any remedy for old age, I wonder ?" "Ay, now there ye treads on my fav'rite corn!" and Peke shook his head with a curious air of petulance.

"That's what I'm a-lookin' for day an' night, for the Wise One 'as got a bit in 'is book which 'e's cropped out o' another Wise One's savin's,--a chap called Para-Cel-Sus"-- and Peke pronounced this name in three distinct and well-divided syllables.
"An this is what it is: 'Take the leaves of the Daura, which prevent those who use it from dying for a hundred and twenty years.

In the same way the flower of the _secta croa_ brings a hundred years to those who use it, whether they be of lesser or of longer age.' I've been on the 'unt for the 'Daura' iver since I was twenty, an' I've arskt ivery 'yerber I've ivir met for the 'Secta Croa,' an' all I've 'ad sed to me is 'Go 'long wi' ye for a loony jackass! There aint no sich thing.' But jackass or no, I'm of a mind to think there _is_ such things as both the 'Daura' an' the 'Secta Croa,' if I on'y knew the English of 'em.

An' s'posin' I ivir found 'em----" "You would become that most envied creature of the present age,--a millionaire," said Helmsley; "you could command your own terms for the wonderful leaves,--you would cease to tramp the road or to gather herbs, and you would live in luxury like a king!" "Not I!"-- and Peke gave a grunt of contempt.