and chat with two girls as nice, without
such stories being set on foot!

Meanwhile the two young ladies were in
a tremor of excitement. It is easy to see
that Katey will have lost all sympathy by
this time; not only from some honest
friends of hers, who could not believe what
they read in the woebegone face of the
parson's son, but from those who are kind
enough to follow the present account of
her. Yet it is surprising how little
constancy there is in the world, after all,
and how much even the most tender and
sympathetic nature can be talked into a
course that seems cruel and unsympathetic.
There she was, alone with them, all against
her, all pressing, remonstrating, laying the
ruin of the family to her wretched and
selfish self. Had she any spirit at all?
Well, then, would she put up with the
imperious, the arrogant tone of that Clarke,
who brought her to book in that way?
Had she no regard for poor, darling,
disappointed Polly, whose heart was breaking
at the mortification, and to whom she
could only make up in this way, as she
had interposed between her and success?
There was no hurry. Besides we may quite
conceive in what position she found herself,
and how she came gradually to believe that
she had behaved cruelly and unkindly; it
flashed on her of a sudden that she had
indeed destroyed poor Polly's certain chance;
though who told her that it was certain,
was not very clear.

But the Doctor, as he said himself, never
left anything to that old thief Time, or
indeed to any one, if it was a thing he
fancied he must do himself. He went in
to see his old friend "Clarke, the parson,"
and to talk over the "lightsome innocent
day" they had had, in which "St. Paul
himself might have joined." Parson Clarke,
rather old and enfeebled, was what is called
a "high fellow," having good connexions,
in which he took pride. He had never
favoured his son's liking for that "low
whisky-drinking Doctor," and the Doctor,
as we have seen, had artfully neither
favoured nor discouraged the youth.

Never was he so gay and full of fun. After
sketching the day and its incidents, he said:

"But here was the cream of all: my
demure Katey, seeing the flirting going on
about her, right and left, up and down,
cross hands, sir, must needs get a yearning
to join in the fun, and what does the little
wicked reprobate do, but go and cut out
her own sister. Poor Tom's nowhere, I'm
afraid, at this moment."

"I heard something of this," said the
other; "but I think the young lady should
know her own mind. I never thought it a
desirable thing for either, as there is no
money, but once there was an
understanding——"

"Oh, I'm afraid that understanding has
broken down about the knees. It's enough
to make one laugh. She was first flattered:
then pleased: then I suppose she pitied, and
after pity comes—what we know. I
declare I laughed for an hour at the sly
boots. 'Papa,' she says to me, in her
innocent way, 'I can't help it. I know it's
cruel. And then you know poor Polly!'''

"I think it cruel," said the other, "and
not very creditable. Tom is sensitive, and
has feelings! Once he has set his heart
on——"

"Well, my dear parson, he may tie his
feelings up in brown paper for all the use
he'll get out of them now. It looks
uncommonly like a blue Finis."

"I tell you l think it very unbecoming, and
it has very much the look of a scheming
matter——"

"Scheming! My Katey scheme! Oh,
its time now this should finish. I tell
you, sir, you're the only man that dare say
that to me in this place, sheltered behind
that rag of black cloth. Come, Mr. Clarke,
you may leave all that by with me, if you're
looking to the profit of the transaction.
You might as well try and bite a saddle in
two. But one word against either my Katey
or my Polly, those two princesses, that are
too good for any beggarly German prince,
any Saxe Gutter, or Saxe Fiddlestick;
touch them, sir—a word, a breath—and I'll
stop up the windpipe of the man that dared
do it with his own words."

"Oh, I know," said the clergyman
contemptuously, "all that's thrown away on
me, as you say. Keep it for your own
countrymen. However, as I told you it is
welcome enough to me. I like my son too
well to see his honest heart and affections
all spilled like so much water on the
ground. So there let it lie."

"There let her lie,
She is at rest,
And so am I,"

sang the Doctor with a humorous twinkle
in his eye. "Why should you and I go
wrangling in this way?  'Accept the situation,'
has always been my motto. Surely
we all know girls and women—who was
ever up to them? What man in or out of a
cassock? They're full of freaks. There's no
knowing to-night what they'll do at twelve