was put out, and became sulky. Polly
was an exotic plant, and required special
treatment; and she had a turn for smart
reply, which obtained for her in the
district quite a reputation for repartee.
She was as of right assumed to be the
leading person in her family: when
Findlater spoke despondingly of the certain
marrying off of his daughters, it was
assumed by all mankind that the reference
was to Polly. There was the parson's son
and "all that"—a pretty old story now—
for Katey; but Coaxy was the choice,
highly bred, beautiful bit of blood, kept
"dark," and splendidly backed to win the
matrimonial Derby when her owner chose
to start her. In every family circle there
is some sort of assumption like this. And
Katey, like many more, accepted it in the
most perfect submission.

Such were the Doctor's daughters—a
dangerous and bewitching pair. For the
genteel young ladies round about,
"perfect adventuresses;" for those who knew
them, delightful company. "There's my
pair," the father would say admiringly, "my
beautiful double-barrelled gun. Which is
the happy father to fire first?"

CHAPTER VII. THE DOCTOR'S DINNER.

BUT now, while Peter Findlater in his
best blue, and his high collars—it was
"clean shirt night" with him—waits his
company, these two country-town beauties
come in, ready for any sport. Polly's eyes
danced with anticipation: "she was ready
to laugh," her father said, "if you held up
your finger." Katey, graceful, well-cut in
face, had a more sly and collected humour,
though looking forward to a night of
pleasure. Peter, always peeping round the
curtains for his guests, calls out:

"'Tention, dears, here's Billy!"

"Oh, I am so glad Billy's coming," says
Polly.

Enters the Reverend William Webber, in
a shining cloth skin, his round face sweetly
shaved, with linen like "De la Rue's best
extra note" (the Doctor's simile).

"Blessings on you, my boy. Don't say
you haven't brought your voice in your
pocket."

"Listen to this sinner," says Mr. Webber;
"wasn't I doing my best to touch his flinty
old heart at church? That's what I did
with my voice. But he'll die impenitent.
And how are you, Miss Polly?"

"Never better," said that young lady.
"You were looking down at me to-day."

"Well, he did his best at the competitive
examination, anyhow. They won't
put you into the living, my boy, though
you'll have to do some dirty work first."

"My dear fellow, nothing that comes
under the name of work is dirty. Thus I
sanctify every action of mine."

"Here's my lord," says the Doctor, from
the "spy-hole" in the curtain, "on the best
horse he has got, Shank's mare."

Lord Shipton now came in, all smiles on
his large mouth, from which a soft ooze of
compliments was distilled. He was fond
of a little old-fashioned gallantry with the
two girls—affecting to say they would not
have an "old fellow like him," and yet
always "laying his heart at their feet."

Miss Polly, it was known, would long
ago have made a snatch at his bridle as he
ambled by, and tried to draw him into the
matrimonial stable; but the wise father saw
it was no use.

"He's as wary as an old hen, dear. If
you chased him into the very coop, he'd
slip out of your fingers. Those pious
girls of his would tear you with their holy
claws."

Now began one of the Doctor's pleasant
little dinners. Between him and Billy
Webber went on a ceaseless exchange of
persiflage of a very unconventional and
highly personal sort, and very amusing to
those listening.

"I declare," says the Doctor, "I'd sooner
give up the religion I was born in, than do
such a thing. I declare I'll turn Jew!"

"Suppose you turned Protestant first,
my dear Peter," says Billy, gaily, a thrust
received with great laughter.

"And put myself under you to be
instructed: wouldn't he awaken me! Wouldn't
you stir the fires of compunction in me, my
ascetic! You chastise me badly, my dear
boy."

The "tail end" of the corned beef came
in for general approbation, Billy declaring
that the sight of such "a bank" of meat,
expanded the heart and the affections, and
was full of generous charity and peace to
all men.

Peter was slicing away diligently with an
enormous carver. "The poor needn't come
to me for anything of this. I couldn't spare
them a scrap of the fat if it was to save my soul."

"No one need think of getting you to
do anything, by holding out a prospect
of that sort. If it was a five-pound note,
indeed——"

"Yet there are fellows who take the