Punchinello's Romance

Front matter

NOVELS BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. New and cheaper issue. Each volume os. the series commences with BESIDE THE RIVER. A FAITHFUL LOVER. TOO SOON. London: A. D. INNES & CO., (late Walter Smith & Innes,) 31 & 32, Bedford Street, Strand, W.C. NEW NOVELS. Bv the Author of " Father Stafford." MR. WITT'S WIDOW : a Frivolous Tale. By Antony Hope, i vol. cr. 8vo. 6s. By Mrs. MACQUOID. MAISIE DERRICK 2 vols. cr. 8vo. £l is. By ESME STUART. VIRGINIES HUSBAND. i vol. cr. 8vo. 6s. London : A. D. INNES & CO., (late Walter Smith & Innes,) & 32, Bedford Street, Strand, W.C. BY ROMA WHITE. 'And what is our failure here, but a triumph's evidence For the fulness of the days ? Have we withered or agonized ? Why else was the pause prolonged, but that singing might issue thence ? Why rushed the discords in, but that Harmony should be prized ?

" Alt Verier. LONDON: A. D. INNES AND CO., Late WALTER SMITH AND JNNES, 31 & 32, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 1892. [All rights reserved. ] Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay.

Chapter I. Dorothy Hesketh

always called her guardian " Humpty-Dumpty." He was so like a picture in one of her nursery books, she said. Not the round Humpty-Dumpty who sat on Alice's wall, but a wizened Humpty-Dumpty, with a mocking face. Only she thought it a pity that her guardian wore a commonplace black coat and gray trousers, instead of the pink and blue and yellow garments that made the Humpty-Dumpty of the picture-book so very beautiful. However, when she ventured to express this opinion to Malachi Crank, he treated the insinuation with contempt. Malachi Crank was Humpty-Dumpty's servant. He was very old, with a brown, withered face. B Dorothy's private opinion was that somebody had once mistaken him for a herring, and kippered him. He and Dorothy and Humpty-Dumpty all lived together under the shadow of a great mill, that sang its song day after day to the blue sky and the cloud drifts, from its throbbing human heart.

There were brown moors beyond the mill, sweeping away into seeming endlessness, and pink and lilac heather, and merry mountain streams where the ash-trees grew. But Humpty-Dumpty's house was in the deep shadow of the mill. It was a very beautiful house ; rich in pictures, and statuary, and embroideries brought from the countries where the sun is always golden, and the skies are always blue. Dorothy was the only blot upon the establishment, the only flaw in the mosaic. She was a little thin slip of a girl, with towsled yellow hair, and a face like that of a brownie from Fairyland. She was vaguely conscious of her own incongruity with the marbles, and the paintings, and the embroideries, and the consciousness made her depressed at times, besides rendering her embarrassingly discursive upon the question of her own origin.

" How did I come into the world, Malachi ? " she would ask, sitting down upon a little stool in his pantry, and offering her assistance with the silver. " I couldn't say, miss," old Malachi would tell her perplexedly. " But I must have come in somehow. What made me ? Where did my arms and legs come from ? How — how — how did I come to be here with Humpty-Dumpty ? " Dorothy would cry impatiently, all her eager, puzzled soul looking out of her big eyes. And then Malachi would scratch his head, and refer her to Mrs. Kite. Mrs. Kite was the cook. She only came in by the day, and considered herself very superior in con sequence. She was fond of Dorothy, and offered her the inevitable maternal solutions of the difficulty. But Dorothy refused to believe them ! Argument failed to convince her that she had either fallen down Humpty-Dumpty's chimney in a snow-storm, or had been found lying, like over-ripe fruit, under the gooseberry-bushes.

The most plausible of logic, too, was utterly unsuccessful in persuading her to believe that she could ever have displayed the slug-like characteristic of hatching herself into existence at the bottom of a flower-pot, while the mildly-proffered theory that she had been dug for with a silver spade caused her to designate Mrs. Kite a "story-teller." So the good lady, whose own offspring had im mediately accepted the maternal fables, desisted from her praiseworthy endeavours, and at last Dorothy took her perplexities to Humpty-Dumpty himself. He was sitting in his arm-chair by the fire, and the child was curled up on the hearthrug beside him, holding Sprat, her small puppy, so tightly round his unfortunate middle that he bulged out, like a bolster, on either side. Malachi Crank, too, was in the room, laying the table for Humpty-Dumpty's late dinner.

He started slightly, and came behind his master's chair, when the question rang out in Dorothy's shrill, unmcllowed treble — " Humpty-Dumpty, how did I come into the world ? " Dorothy's guardian stirred a little, and lifted his eyes from the fire. Malachi Crank sacrificed his butler's dignity to the emergency, and, pretending to occupy himself with the cinders in the grate, gave Dorothy a warning poke with the handle of the hearth-brush. Dorothy pushed it away, and Sprat tried to worry the retreating bristles, while Humpty- Dumpty's eyes softened with a sudden smile. "How did you come into the world, my dear?" he repeated. " By the usual fortuitous conglomeration of circumstances, I believe." Dorothy was puzzled. She sat silent for a few moments, and then spoke again — " Are fcr — for — fortitous con — something of circumstances the same as fathers and mothers, Humpty-Dumpty ?

" " Something of the kind," her guardian told her. " Then I didn't come into the world that way ! " exclaimed Dorothy, triumphantly, "'cos I never had any father or mother." "How do you know that?" demanded Humpty- Dumpty. " Do you think you are an Elfin Princess ? You look rather like one." And he smiled down upon the eager, ugly little face, with its halo of tangled hair. " No," said Dorothy, " no — but — everybody else has got fathers and mothers, or else — or else — " She stopped short, and, half-burying her face in Sprat's wiry little back, went rather red. " Or else what ? " asked her guardian, curiously. " Or else — graves" whispered Dorothy, quite crimson now. There was a silence over the firelit hearth. Malachi Crank blew his nose stormily and left the room. Humpty-Dumpty was looking gloomily into the fire.

"Would a grave be a satisfactory substitute?" he demanded at last, a little break coming into the satirical slowness of his tones; "if it would, little Dorothy, there is one close at hand." " Where ? " breathed Dorothy, looking up with anxious eyes. Her childish imagination half ex pected to see a tombstone come walking in at the door. "Sitting by you," her guardian told her, "a grave of love, and ambition, and hope, and all that makes the world a Palace Beautiful. A whited sepulchre, little Dorothy, full of dead men's bones." He stretched out his arm and hand as he spoke, and gazed meditatively at them. They were shrunken, and misshapen, like the rest of his body. Dorothy did not understand him. "You aren't a grave, Humpty-Dumpty," she said halffret fully ; "how can you be?" " Mayn't I even be a grave ?

" he asked ; " then I must be the father and mother instead. You said that either would do." And with that answer Dorothy had to be content. Yet she fretted over it silently, sitting upon the rug, and wiping away one or two big tears with the end of Sprat's tail. She had never had any father or mother at all. She had apparently failed in the first elements of respectability. She slipped away presently, in order to make her peace with Malachi Crank. She knew that she had seriously offended him by her disregard of the warning hearth-brush. But it had nearly precipitated her into the coal-box, and she had felt a right to be annoyed. She found him in his pantry, rubbing up the spoons and forks, and muttering to himself as he did so. He appeared to derive consolation from a vigorous use of his leather.

The child sat down upon her three-legged stool, and eyed him for a few moments in silence. She perceived that the work of propitiation would be severe. She waited until he had finished the soup ladle. Then she began her little overtures of peace. "When is your birthday, Malachi?" she asked, confidentially, looking up into his withered face with her bright eyes. But Malachi was seriously offended. His reply was brief, and of an epigrammatic nature. " Birthdays, Miss Dorothy," he said, grimly, " is for them as can afford to keep 'em." Dorothy was silent. She felt both hurt and humiliated. After a few moments, however, she spoke again. " If you had a birthday, quite by accident, you know, Malachi," she said, timidly, "what would you like for a present ? " Malachi's answer was brief, as epigrammatic as before.

" Presents, Miss Dorothy, is for them as can afford to buy 'em." And then he began to polish the big salver. Dorothy sat in crushed silence. She was quite relieved when Mrs. Kite came into the pantry for the silver vegetable-dishes. The relations between herself and Malachi were becoming strained. Mrs. Kite was in mourning. "Buryings" were her favourite method of relaxation. She sniffed gloomily on this occasion as she lifted the dishes from the shelves. " Dissenting Parson ha' gone, Malachi," she said, lugubriously; "aye, he ha' gone, and I follered him to-day." Mrs. Kite's remarks were calculated to convey the impression that she had that day departed from the world, and had returned to it a substantial ghost. But she only referred to her attendance at the funeral. " He wur a beautiful corpse," she went on, " even though he wur t' Dissenting Parson.

What's up wi' Dorothy ? " This sudden transition from the funereal to the personal startled Dorothy so much that she nearly fell off her stool. " Nothing," she said, proudly, recovering her dignity with her balance; "and I wish you would call me Miss Dorothy; I always call you Mrs. Kite." " Bless the little dear ! Thee can ca' me Mary Anne," said Mrs. Kite, with the air of making a generous concession. And then, suddenly recollect ing her mourning, she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye, and carried her vegetable-dishes into the kitchen. With Humpty-Dumpty, Malachi Crank, and Mrs. Kite for her companions, was it any wonder that Dorothy looked like a wizened Elfin Princess, and addled her little brains over the vain enigma as to how and why she had come into the world ?

Chapter II

Humpty-Dumpty's house stood in the shadow of the mill, and a mosaic of dreary paths and unkempt lawns lay about it. The umber breath from the great chimney begrimed the trees, and an array of leafless, flowerless rhododendron-bushes stood, like sentinels, up the gravel drive. King Soot sat enthroned in the garden, and permitted neither bloom nor fragrance about his court. In the unkempt garden little Dorothy played. Possibly Mrs. Kite's influence imparted to her a strong predilection for games of a gloomy and religious kind. One autumn afternoon she was engrossed in a thrilling funeral, the interest of the interment being enhanced by the dimensions of the corpse. For she had found a very large and very much decomposed rat among the cabbages, and, with pleasurable importance, had prepared for it quite a magnificent tomb in the asparagus bed.

Sprat was to be the chief mourner. He wagged his tail and cocked his ears when he saw the corpse. Altogether his demeanour betrayed a delight and excitement which Dorothy thought a little unbe coming, considering the occasion. She reproved him for it, and, taking her small spade, began to pat and smooth the sides of the hole. The corpse was laid in state upon her wheelbarrow, and the chief mourner sat by its side. One of his bright eyes was upon the body, the other glanced at his mistress in a furtive and questioning fashion. Whenever Dorothy looked round at him he thumped his tail quite violently upon the ground. But, when Dorothy turned away again, he edged his plump form a little nearer to the barrow whereon that most tempting of corpses lay. An odorous whiff floated out upon the evening air.

It was too much for puppyhood. Sprat's canine nature overcame his sense of responsibility and de corum. There was a sudden bound, a scramble, a yelp of glee ; and then the chief mourner abducted the corpse, and curvetted merrily away with it across the lawn. Dorothy flung down her spade and gave chase. Her cheeks were aflame, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anger. Round and round the un kempt lawns they ran, the chief mourner snorting lustily, and worrying his prey. By and by Dorothy realized that very soon there would only be odd scraps of the corpse left to bury. She quickened her pace ; the chief mourner did likewise. The lawns seemed to spin round her, and the sky turned green, like the grass. Suddenly her foot caught in the trailing roots of an old hawthorn-tree ; she stumbled and fell headlong, rolling over into the nettles ; while, with a yelp of triumph, the chief mourner vanished into the back-yard.

As Dorothy sat among the nettles, her face resting upon her crossed arms, and her foolish little heart grieving over its foolish little trouble, she became conscious of another presence, besides her own, under the shade of the hawthorn-trees. And peeping up from between her tear-drenched fingers, she saw her guardian standing by her side. Humpty-Dumpty had a companion to-day — a young man dressed in a coarse homespun suit, with a homely face, and honest straightforward eyes. He looked down upon Dorothy, and compassion softened his glance into a certain tenderness for the child and her stormy grief. " What is the matter ? " asked Humpty-Dumpty. Dorothy did not answer. She looked foolish, and scraped her toe about the gravel instead. " I have already arranged for a water-supply, my Elfin Princess.

But, if you insist upon cheating the rates, would you oblige me by weeping into the family cistern. It will be a more effective system of domestic economy." The child peeped up at him from under her eyelids, and then her trouble came out in a quick-spoken burst. " The chief mourner has eaten the corpse, and I can't have any funeral ! " The young man in the homespun suit turned his back. His mouth twitched for a moment, and then fixed itself into steadfastly grave lines. Humpty- Dumpty glanced round at him. " I trust, Mr. Taylor, you will feel no hesitation in taking up your abode in a land peopled, apparently, with a mixture of corpses and cannibals?" This time the young man laughed outright. It was a hearty laugh, with an honest ring about it. Dorothy, child-like, glanced up, and gave a quick answering smile.

" Who is that ? " she demanded of her guardian, pointing unceremoniously with her small forefinger. " That, my dear, is K 12 — at the Printer's." He drew a small advertisement-slip from his pocket-book, and handed it, with a quaint look, to his companion. " Wanted, situation as Manager ; spinning; good reference ; K 1 2, at the Printer's!' Jim Taylor read the slip, and smiled a little. " I thought you had heard of me through Mr. Wheeldon, sir." He spoke for the first time, and Dorothy, glancing up at him again, felt puzzled. Her quick child's ear caught an uneducated accent, which he palpably endeavoured to conquer. Had it not been for a certain natural sturdy independence, his speech might have been a little precise. "K 12, at the Printer's, was my earliest intimation, nevertheless. Yes, Mr. Wheeldon spoke warmly of you.

What made you leave him ? " A keen look flashed out from the hunchback's eyes, as he leant against a tree trunk, and smoothed Dorothy's yellow hair. " I never should have done so, but for one circum stance," said Jim Taylor, simply. " I had begun at his mill as a little lad, and had worked my way up through the different departments, until I was, practically, sole manager of the place. But you see, sir, he was getting on in life, and he brought his son into the business." "Well?" " Young Wheeldon was a fool." The words came out involuntarily, and then the speaker frowned, and flushed a little. " I mean to say, sir, he was fresh from some swell college, and knew no more of the work than the little lady there. I couldn't be under him. I understood the business, and he didn't. I was forced to leave."

" The workings of Providence, maybe," said Humpty-Dumpty, "terminating in K 12 — at the Printer's. Mr. Wheeldon told me you were quite fit for a position of trust." " I hope so, sir." " So do I, Taylor. You see, I am seldom in that office yonder. I prefer to sit at home, and admire the pictures upon my walls." Humpty-Dumpty was silent for a moment, and then continued, half sadly — " I think it must be the eccentricities of Nature that caused her to be endowed with the feminine gender. She designed me according to a unique plan of her own, gave me the soul of a philosopher, and then docketed me, ' Cotton-Spinner. For the Manufacturing Districts. To be kept dry and de livered immediately. Right side up, with care.' I have a fancy that I couldn't have been kept right side up with care. Assuredly, there never before was so wrong -a man in so wrong a place.

My father perceived the incongruity, and when he left me a fortune and a prosperous business, left me a clear headed trustworthy manager as well. Unfortunately, typhoid fever claimed the manager, and he died. My father was a remarkable man, but he did not take death into his calculations. He was very much amazed when he died himself. He would have been more so at his manager venturing to do so." " Aye," said Jim Taylor, glancing compassionately, yet with a touch of wonder, at the wizened figure C leaning against the tree and playing with the yellow hair of the elfish-faced child — " aye, sir. You want somebody there whom you can trust." He glanced towards the mill as he spoke, and Humpty-Dumpty lifted himself from the tree rather wearily. " Come, then," he said. " Are you going to the mill ?

" asked Dorothy, from her seat among the brambles. " May I come, Humpty-Dumpty ? " Her guardian looked down upon her with his curious smile. It was a crooked smile, and seemed in keeping with the rest of his body. " My Elfin Princess," he said, " when you call me 'Humpty-Dumpty' in that tone of voice, I always suffer from the conviction that you have a lurking desire to dress me up in a red satin suit, and jerk me up and down at the end of a purple stick." Dorothy shook her head. "You'd be too heavy," she answered literally. "Are you going there ? May I come ?" He held out his hand to her, and she scrambled up from the brambles, and trotted contentedly across the garden by his side. A door in the wall connected the garden with the mill-yard. The hunchback fitted his key into the lock, and passed through the opening with his halting tread.

The young man and the little child followed him. The dying sunlight fell about the three and mingled their shadows curiously. Humpty-Dumpty looked at the triple shadow, and was struck with an odd idea. " Dorothy is an Elfin Princess, and I am a — Punchinello," he said suddenly ; " who knows that you may not wake up to find yourself an Elfin Prince ! " Jim Taylor laughed. He looked down at his homespun suit, at his roughened hands, at his great boots, soiled with a tramp through cindery lanes. He laughed again as he looked. He could not associate himself with an Elfin Prince at all. "Ah, well," said the hunchback, "don't expect too much from either of us. We live in a fairy tale, Dorothy and I ; you must not look for anything better. We were not born to be anything better. Her place is a chariot made of moonbeams and four leaved clover ; mine is the red satin suit and the end of the purple stick."

Jim Taylor looked at him in wondering silence. He was so small, so weirdly misshapen in the fading light. He was unlike anything that the young man had ever met with in his prosaic, business-bounded life, and Jim felt as if he had, indeed, suddenly fallen into a nineteenth century fairy tale. And then Humpty-Dumpty unlocked the office door, and the three passed into the twilight of the mill. The hands had finished work for the day, and the great engine had hushed its ceaseless song. The hunchback led the way through the office and the warehouse, and stood where the mules lay eerie and distorted in the gloom. Dorothy broke away from his clasp, and wandered down between the silent machinery. She loved, above all things, a visit to the mill. She had grown up under its shadow, and had listened day by day to its song.

It was a personality to her, a Being as full of life as her restless little self. Humpty-Dumpty leant against the wall, and watched her. Jim Taylor, silent and observant, was struck by something in his face. He felt, again, as if he had stumbled into a mystery. As he watched the hunchback's face, it was turned to him, and Dorothy's guardian spoke. " Are you married, then ? " " No, sir ; I have my mother with me. She was a — laundress," the words came out with a slight, a very slight hesitation, and a faint flush. " She has been more than a good mother to me. My father died when I was quite a little chap. No, I have never married." " Strange — most men in your position marry early." Dorothy's guardian spoke dreamily. He seemed to be recalling some memory, and his eyes had wandered back to the child.

"Yes, sir; but I did not." Jim Taylor, in turn, recalled a memory — a memory with dark eyes that had laughed at him from under a plaid shawl. He had lived down his little romance, and now was rather glad than other wise that the dark eyes had been faithless. For he had grown out of his old surroundings and his old life. He was determined that he would be "a gentle man," and certainly the owner of the dark eyes would never have developed into a lady. " I suppose your mother keeps house for you ? " Humpty-Dumpty was speaking again. "Yes, sir." " There is a nice red-brick dwelling-place of the villa category, about ten minutes' walk from here. Your salary will quite admit of its dimensions. Would you like to have a look at it ? I shall want you to settle down as soon as possible." " Thank you, sir ; but I must have a breath of air blowing about my house.

There's a bit of land near the moors that I found out when I was waiting for three o'clock — the time you appointed. It has a small cottage, and a garden. I could make a cosy little place out of it." "Old Winthorpe's cottage." Humpty-Dumpty smiled a little. " It is a long walk to the mill." " I shall prefer that," said Jim Taylor, decisively. Dorothy came running to them through the twilight, her footsteps echoing loudly in the silence. The hunchback went with his halting tread to meet her, and stooped tenderly over her, smoothing the yellow hair. " Well, my dear, what is it ? " Humpty-Dumpty, let us go home. It looks as if it were dead." He took her hand in his, and led her away, beckoning to Jim Taylor to follow. The machinery had taken strange shapes in the gathering gloom. The hunchback, as he locked the doors, lifted his face to the distant shadows upon the moors.

" Ring out, O regal purple heather-bells ! " he muttered to himself. " Weave a crown of kingly amber, O golden gorse ! For to-day is a king look ing upon his kingdom ; and the Fairy Prince has come into the tale ' " It was only one of Humpty-Dumpty's fancies. And what was he but a Punchinello, after all ?

Chapter III. Dorothy

sat with her guardian in the firelight. The hunchback was in his easy-chair, and the child was curled up on the hearthrug beside him. His withered fingers touched her hair. " Was there ever a washerwoman in the fairy story, Dorothy ? " " Once, Humpty-Dumpty. She was Jack-and-the Beanstalk's mother." Dorothy's guardian made a grimace. " Jack, if you remember, my Elfin Princess, climbed up the beanstalk and stole the golden >» eggs.' "Well, he planted the beanstalk himself, you know," said Dorothy, apologetically. Humpty-Dumpty laughed a little. " So you think he deserved them, do you ? Dorothy, we will give a dinner-party, you and I. We will slay the fatted calf, and pour out the libations of wine. We will invite all Barnside to meet my new manager. It will annoy all Barnside vastly, but we shall enjoy it all the more for that.

Can you do the honours, my Elfin Princess, at the head of my table ? " " Yes," said Dorothy, stoutly. She drew a picture of herself, bowing and smiling to the company, dressed up in a certain gown of silk tartan and lace, that she had gazed at admiringly for months. It was exhibited in the milliner's shop that lay in the hollow below the mill, and she thought it very beautiful indeed. "Hardly, yet awhile," said Humpty-Dumpty, gently. "We must import a hostess, Dorothy, with the hock." He was thoughtful for a few moments, pondering the list of his acquaintances. " My manager has a mother, you see, little Dorothy. We must conjure up a lady to entertain her. She took in washing a few years ago, and will, doubtless, be on terms of intimacy with Mrs. Kite. But that makes no difference, does it ?"

Dorothy did not answer. She nestled her head against her guardian's knees, and wondered very much what he was talking about. " You must not imagine that my manager's mother will be by any means vulgar, Dorothy. She will, probably, only be natural — aggressively natural. She will behave according to instinct. She will have no perception of art." " Who wont ? " asked the child, vaguely. "Dorothy," said Humpty-Dumpty severely, "you have not been following the conversation. That was remiss of you. And let me beg, my Elfin Princess, that you treat the dinner-party to no marvellous conjectures upon the subject of your origin. Be content to exist, my child, without expressing doubts concerning your ancestry." A quietness fell over the hearth. Presently the hunchback raised his head, and spoke again.

" Now I come to think of it, Dorothy, it is not according to etiquette to import your hostess with your hock. She should by no means share the characteristic of the hired waiter. She should be indigenous ; if not indigenous, at any rate accli matized. To keep up the horticultural and floral metaphor, I must transplant my Aunt Jane. My Aunt Jane, Dorothy, is a very worthy woman. We will invite her to spend a week with us." Dorothy glanced up in silent amazement. She and her guardian had lived in almost uninterrupted companionship up to now. Humpty-Dumpty smiled at her astonished glance. "My Elfin Princess, you must run away to bed. You need not be so electrified. Timon is about to entertain." He stretched out his misshapen hand and arm, and looked meditatively at them, as was his custom. No one who did not see it could realize the pathos of the gesture.

So it came to pass that, a few days later, an angular and gloomy dame came to the old house in the shadow of the mill. She averted her gaze from the paintings, and regarded the statues with sniffs of disapproval. Dorothy's presence threw her into even deeper fits of gloom than affected1 her permanently. She had a habit of gazing darkly at her nephew's ward, shaking her head from time to time, and making a funny little noise with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The result was a con tinual clacking sound, as if she were a self-satisfied hen. Dorothy demanded the reason of it at last. It was the night of the dinner-party, and she and Miss Fenwicke sat primly on either side of the fire. The child wore a little long white frock, that made her more quaintly like an Elfin Princess than ever.

Humpty-Dumpty's aunt was clad in a wonderful purplish-bronze silk gown, and looked rather as if she had dressed herself up for the occasion in a suit of armour. The little clacking sound rose and fell, as usual, and Dorothy became nervous under the prolonged infliction. She looked up into Miss Fenwicke's face, and demanded abruptly, " What is the matter ? Miss Fenwicke started. To do her justice, she was unconscious of her Dorking proclivities. " Has the back seam burst ? " she asked in some alarm. " I expected that it would." " No," said Dorothy, bluntly ; " but why do you go ' Tut-tut-tut ! ' always." Miss Fenwicke gave a heavy sigh. "The sins of the fathers are visited upon the children," she was beginning to say, when Humpty-Dumpty's voice echoed towards them from the door. " Then, in that case, my dear aunt, Dorothy is singularly exempt from the ills of life.