Just as Mr. Faulkner pronounced these words he started in his chair, andresumed his stiff, dignified position in a great hurry. "Bless my soul!"cried he, with a comic look of astonishment and vexation, "while I havebeen telling you what is the real secret of my interest in the sketchyou have so kindly given to me, I have altogether forgotten that I camehere to sit for my portrait. For the last hour or more I must have beenthe worst model you ever had to draw from!"
"On the contrary, you have been the best," said I. "I have beentrying to catch your likeness; and, while telling your story, you haveunconsciously shown me the natural expression I wanted to insure mysuccess."
NOTE BY MRS. KERBY.
I cannot let this story end without mentioning what the chance sayingwas which caused it to be told at the farmhouse the other night. Ourfriend the young sailor, among his other quaint objections to sleepingon shore, declared that he particularly hated four-post beds, because henever slept in one without doubting whether the top might not come downin the night and suffocate him. I thought this chance reference to thedistinguishing feature of William's narrative curious enough, andmy husband agreed with me. But he says it is scarcely worth while tomention such a trifle in anything so important as a book. I cannotventure, after this, to do more than slip these lines in modestly atthe end of the story. If the printer should notice my few lastwords, perhaps he may not mind the trouble of putting them into someout-of-the-way corner.
L. K.
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