"point steak well beat, potatoes, and a pint of
sherry," to be ready for him in an hour's time;
inquired the way to Albion Villa; and set
off for Albion Villa accompanied by his dog
Beppo.

I don't think Mr. John Mortiboy was much
wanted at Albion Villa, nor that he was exactly
the kind of man who would have suited its
inmates. They were little conscious of the
approach of his hard creaking boots, striding
over the ill-paved High-street of the little town,
and were enjoying themselves after their own
simple fashion. The blinds were down, the
candles were lighted, and Mrs. Barford was
pretending to be knitting, but really enjoying a
placid sleep; Ellen, her eldest daughter, was
reading a magazine; Kate, her youngest, was
making some sketches under the observant
tuition of a slim gentleman with a light beard,
who apparently took the greatest interest in his
pupil. Upon this little group the clang of the
gate bell, the creaking of Mr. John Mortiboy's
boots, and the strident tones of Mr. John
Mortiboy's voice, fell uncomfortably. " Say Mr.
John Mortiboy, of London," he exclaimed, while
yet in the little passage outside. The startled
Welsh servant having obeyed him, he followed
close upon her heels into the room.

"Servant, ladies!" said he, with a short
circular nod, " servant, Mrs. Barford! Best to
explain matters wholesale. You wonder who I
am. You're sister-in-law to my uncle, Jonas
Crump. I'm my uncle's partner in Friday-street.
Done too much; rather baked in the head—
heavy consignments and sitting up late at night
poring over figures. The doctor recommended
change of air; uncle Crump recommended
Penethly, and mentioned you. I came down
here, and have taken the liberty of calling.
Down, Beppo! Don't mind him, miss, he won't
hurt you."

"Oh! I'm not afraid of the dog!" said
Ellen, with a slight start at Mr. Mortiboy's
general manner, and at his calling her " Miss."
Kate looked on in wonder, and the slim
gentleman with the light beard confided to the said
beard, the word "Brute."

"We're—very—pleased to see you, Mr.
Mortiboy," said Mrs. Barford, " and—and hope that
you will soon recover your health in our quiet
village. I'm sure anything that we can—can
do—my daughters, Miss Ellen, Miss Kate
Barford; a friend of ours, Mr. Sandham—we
shall be most happy to—" As Mrs. Barford's
voice died away in the contemplation of the
happiness before her, the young ladies and
Mr. Sandham bowed, and Mr. Mortiboy
favoured them with a series of short nods. Then
he said, abruptly turning to the slim gentleman,
"In the army, sir?"

"No, sir, I am not!" retorted the slim
gentleman, with great promptitude.

"Beg pardon, no offence! Volunteer,
perhaps? Hair, you know, beard, et cætera, made
me think you were in the military line. Many
young gents now-a-days are volunteers!"

"Mr. Sandham is an artist," said Mrs.
Barford, interposing in dread lest there should be
an outbreak.

"Oh ah!" said Mr. Mortiboy. " Bad trade
that—demand not equal to supply, is it? Too
many hands employed; barely bread and cheese,
I'm told, for any but the top-sawyers."

"Sir!" said Mr. Sandham, in a loud tone of
voice, and fiercely.

"Edward!" said Miss Kate, beneath her
breath, appealingly.

"Won't you take some refreshment, Mr.
Mortiboy?" asked Mrs. Barford, warningly.
"We're just going to supper."

"No, thank you, mam," said Mr. Mortiboy.
"I've a steak and potatoes waiting for me at the
Royal, after which I shall turn in at once, as I'm
done up by my journey. Good night, ladies
all! Good night to you, sir! I'll look you up
to-morrow morning, and if any of you want to
go for a turn, I shall be proud to beau you
about. Good night!" And beckoning his dog,
Mr. Mortiboy took his departure.

Scarcely had the door closed behind him, than
the long-restrained comments began.

"A pleasant visitor uncle Crump has sent us,
mamma!" said Kate.

"Uncle Crump, indeed! Who never sent us
anything before, except a five-pound note when
poor papa died!" exclaimed Ellen.

"But you won't, will you, mamma, you won't
be put upon in this way? You won't have this
horrid man running in and out at all times and
seasons, and—"

"And beau-ing us about! the vulgar wretch!"
interrupted Kate.

"My dears! my dears!" said Mrs. Barford,
"it strikes me that some one has been teaching
you very strong language."

"Not I, Mrs. Barford," said Mr. Sandham;
"absolve me from that; though I must own
that if ever I saw a man who wanted kicking"

"Nonsense, Mr. Sandham. This gentleman
is imbued with certain London peculiarities, no
doubt; but I dare say there's good in him.
There must be, or he would never be the partner
of such an upright man as Jonas Crump."

"Upright man! Pooh!" said Kate; and then
the supper came in, and the subject dropped.

At nine o'clock next morning, just as the
breakfast-things had been cleared, and Mrs.
Barford was going through her usual interview
with the cook, Kate, who was sitting in the
little bay-window, started and exclaimed: " Oh,
mamma! Here's this horrid man!"

Ellen peeped over her shoulder, and said, " I
think he looks, if possible, more dreadful by
daylight than by candlelight!"

Mr. John Mortiboy, utterly unconscious of
the effect he was producing, unlatched the
garden-gate, and then for the first time looking
up, nodded shortly and familiarly at the sisters.
"How do, young ladies?" he called from the
garden. "Fine morning this; fresh and all
that sort of thing! I feel better already. When
a London man's a little overdone, nothing sets
him up so soon, as a sniff of the briny."