The Doctor never dreamed of inquiring whether his children, or
either of them, helped in any way to make the scheme a serious one.
But then he was a Philosopher.
A kind and generous man by nature, he had stumbled, by chance, over
that common Philosopher's stone (much more easily discovered than
the object of the alchemist's researches), which sometimes trips up
kind and generous men, and has the fatal property of turning gold
to dross and every precious thing to poor account.
'Britain!' cried the Doctor. 'Britain! Holloa!'
A small man, with an uncommonly sour and discontented face, emerged
from the house, and returned to this call the unceremonious
acknowledgment of 'Now then!'
'Where's the breakfast table?' said the Doctor.
'In the house,' returned Britain.
'Are you going to spread it out here, as you were told last night?'
said the Doctor. 'Don't you know that there are gentlemen coming?
That there's business to be done this morning, before the coach
comes by? That this is a very particular occasion?'
'I couldn't do anything, Dr. Jeddler, till the women had done
getting in the apples, could I?' said Britain, his voice rising
with his reasoning, so that it was very loud at last.
'Well, have they done now?' replied the Doctor, looking at his
watch, and clapping his hands.
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