Orientals. What do I not owe to him?"

"To whom?" asked Squills. "Good Lord! what's the man talking about?"

"Yes, sir," said my father, rousing himself, "such was Giles Tibbets, M.
A., Sol Scientiarum, tutor to the humble scholar you address, and father
to poor Kitty. He left me his Elzevirs; he left me also his orphan
daughter."

"Oh! as a wife--"

"No, as a ward. So she came to live in my house. I am sure there was
no harm in it. But my neighbors said there was, and the widow Weltraum
told me the girl's character would suffer. What could I do?--Oh, yes, I
recollect all now! I married her, that my old friend's child might have
a roof to her head, and come to no harm. You see I was forced to do her
that injury; for, after all, poor young creature, it was a sad lot for
her. A dull bookworm like me,--cochlea vitam agens, Mr. Squills,--
leading the life of a snail! But my shell was all I could offer to my
poor friend's orphan."

"Mr. Caxton, I honor you," said Squills, emphatically, jumping up, and
spilling half a tumblerful of scalding punch over my father's legs.
"You have a heart, sir; and I understand why your wife loves you. You
seem a cold man, but you have tears in your eyes at this moment."

"I dare say I have," said my father, rubbing his shins; "it was
boiling!"

"And your son will be a comfort to you both," said Mr. Squills,