.

.

and they did not return till the end of August.

So Lancelot buried himself up to the eyes in the Condition-of-the-Poor question--that is, in blue books, red books, sanitary reports, mine reports, factory reports; and came to the conclusion, which is now pretty generally entertained, that something was the matter--but what, no man knew, or, if they knew, thought proper to declare.

Hopeless and bewildered, he left the books, and wandered day after day from farm to hamlet, and from field to tramper's tent, in hopes of finding out the secret for himself.