"Come, let's go inside, and have lunch together. You are, doubtless,
hungry," said Oldstone. "We'll have a good long chat over our meal." Then leaning on his friend's arm, both entered the inn. Our host and hostess were, of course, delighted at the arrival of the
long-absent member, and many allusions were made to old times. Dame
Hearty hastily laid the cloth, brought in the lunch of cold beef and
pickles, the remains of a rabbit pie, some bread and cheese, with a jug
of nut-brown ale, home-brewed and left the two companions to themselves. "And so our young friend, Vandyke McGuilp, has gone and made a d----d
fool of himself," said Rustcoin, after a pause in the conversation. "Well, I thought him a more sensible man. What! one of _his_ talent and
position to sink himself to the level of a dish-clout! Why! it's sheer
madness." "My dear fellow; don't talk like that," cried Oldstone. "If you'd only
seen the girl, I assure you----"

"Bah! I make no doubt but that she's pretty--that's not the point. You
won't pretend that she was any better educated than the rest of her
class," maintained Rustcoin. "Educated! _educated!_" exclaimed Oldstone. "She had something in her
far beyond what _you_ would call education--by which you probably mean
book learning, or that flimsy social veneer which anyone can acquire
who chooses to move within the radius of a certain narrow circle, where
all is artificial, unreal, cold, hypocritical, and false. This is a girl
of character, truth-loving, sweet, and unselfish--pure as an
angel--intelligent, and with fine sensibilities." "Nonsense," broke in Rustcoin, testily. "These country wenches are ever
stubborn, hard-headed, self-interested, exacting, undocile, unteachable. Peasant she was born, and peasant she will remain to the end of her
days. God help the poor idiot with such a one for a mate! She may be
well enough as a wife to some country bumpkin, but for any rational
being to hamper himself with one of these clods----"

"But she's not one of these clods," persisted Oldstone. "I tell you this
is quite an exceptional case." "Just because she is pretty, forsooth," interposed Rustcoin. "I believe
you are gone on her yourself." "Oh! as for me--I love her as my own daughter," replied Oldstone. "I've
seen her grow up from a child, and have had plenty of time to study her
disposition. I have ever found her dutiful to her parents, diligent in
her duties, naturally intelligent, and of the highest principle. Her
surroundings have not been altogether those that fall to the lot of a
girl of that class, and she possesses all the qualities that any
rational man should expect in a wife." "Such a paragon as you describe, I confess, never came within my
experience, and I have gone through something in my youth. More than
once I have been on the point of making a fool of myself. At the time, I
thought my goddess the most perfect being in creation, but I was soon
undeceived in every case, and now I thank my stars that I have always
managed to steer clear of trouble, and have remained an old bachelor." It was the third day since Rustcoin had appeared upon the scene, since
which time Oldstone had been sinking fast. At this moment he was seated,
propped up by cushions, in an easy chair, in dressing gown and night
cap. His friend Rustcoin was by his side, receiving instructions as to
the publication of a pile of MSS, whilst Mr. Hardcase, the lawyer, whom
we have mentioned as still being on the spot after the others had left,
was now engaged in putting the antiquary's will into legal form. Dr. Bleedem having retired to London, his successor, Dr. Dosemore, had
been called in to attend the patient. He could do no more however than
his predecessor had done--viz., to warn him of his approaching end
informing him that he would succumb to internal gout, which would
encroach upon his system, until it reached the heart, when it would take
him off suddenly. The new doctor had just left the room, and the
antiquary was addressing his old friend in feeble tones, as follows:--

"This pile of MSS," he said, "is a collection of tales, which I have
jotted down from memory as nearly as possible in the words of the
narrators, and which I desire to be bound and published, under the
title of 'Tales of the Wonder Club, by Dryasdust.' I believe I am
conferring a boon upon society in rescuing these precious documents from
oblivion, and publishing them broadcast, for the benefit of humanity at
large. See that they be illustrated by the first artists of the day, so
that the book may obtain all the readier sale. So shall my soul rest in
peace, and my blessing remain with those I leave behind. Tell my young
friend Vandyke that my last thoughts were of him and his fair bride." Then extending one hand to his friend Rustcoin and the other to the
lawyer, he sank back on his cushions and spoke no more. "So he has gone at last, the poor old gentleman," said Hardcase,
disengaging his hand from that of the corpse. "Ay, just _three days_ from my arrival, as predicted by the
sexton--strange, isn't it?" remarked Rustcoin. "What a fine old head it
is. It's a pity a cast should not be taken of it. I should so like to
possess a bust of my old friend." "Nothing is easier," said the lawyer. "I will get the new doctor to take
one. I know he can, because he told me so." Dr. Dosemore was immediately recalled, and before the day was over, a
successful mould was taken of the face, which, with as little delay as
possible, Rustcoin despatched to Rome, to a sculptor friend of his of
some renown, with injunctions to execute for him a bust of his old
friend, in the best Carrara marble, with pedestal of scagliola. *       *       *       *       *

The bell was tolling at the old church of Littleboro'. A solemn
procession, all clad in deep mourning, entered the churchyard gate, and
followed the coffin to the grave. The sexton was at his post, bearing a
certain air of triumph about him, as if he were saying to himself,
"There, I told you so. They can't none of 'em fool me. What I perdicts
is _sartin_." The same old vicar who so lately had joined together the hands of our
hero and heroine in holy matrimony has now a sadder task to perform. Our
host and hostess, of course, are present, as well as our friends
Hardcase, Rustcoin, and the new doctor, besides several strangers. All
stand reverently bareheaded during the reading of the burial service,
until the usual three handfuls of earth are strewn upon the coffin,
after which the sexton, with a deft and businesslike, though hardly a
reverent manner, tumbles the earth hurriedly on to the top of the
coffin, and all is over. Soon after the ceremony Rustcoin and Hardcase take leave of each other,
and likewise of our host and hostess, when each departs by a different
route. Rustcoin returns no more to Rome, but settles in York, his native
town, where he purchased a house, which he has been at some pains to fit
up according to his tastes.