"The fact is," I answered, with a smile,
"some fatality seems to attend upon any
exercise of choice on my part. All your
children are charming. If it were not wholly
out of the question to submit such young ladies
to such an arbitrament, I would almost venture
to propose that those who deem a prize, like
myself, worth the pains, should—-ahem!—-
forgive me—-draw lots for it."

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared the squire. " A
capital idea! But they needn't know it, eh?
Wife'll write their names—-that is, Mattie,
Ethel, and Leonora—-my poor Alice is out
of the race—-and we'll decide it where we stand."

Absurd as was the plan—-for I had only
meant it in pleasantry—-Mr. Crowdie insisted
on nailing me to my own suggestion. The
names were written, the lots drawn by Mr.
Crowdie himself, and Mattie was the winner.

"My dear Dick, I congratulate you!" and
he caught my hand. " Believe me, you have
been most fortunate."

I glanced at the unconscious Mattie, who,
deserted by me, was battling away at croquet
on behalf of both, and wondered what was next
to be done.

"Will you"—-said Mr. Crowdie—-" ahem!—-
or—-shall l?"

"You, by all means, my dear sir," said I.
And while I strolled with Mrs. Crowdie among
her azaleas, I saw him detach Mattie from the
game. Presently, and quite unexpectedly, we
met them at the turn of a path. Mattie's brown
eyes were a little wider open than usual, but
she was apparently resigned to her lot.

"Here, Dick," said Mr. Crowdie, " I give
you the light of my house. And, let me tell
you, it is not every one who should win her
from us so easily."

I felt that I had no right to complain. Nothing
could well exceed the simplicity of the
process by which I had " won" her.

The tête-à-tête, which shortly followed, was
not a prolonged one. It was, however, long
enough to convince me that my new betrothed
was likely to prove a pleasing, gentle wife; and
it was with the sort of relief one feels in sitting
down, after a hot and weary journey, under
fresh green trees, that I accepted this new
fortune. Making my way to the quiet deserted
drawing-room, I resolved to write at once to my
uncle.

I thought it just as well to say nothing of
previous disappointments. It was best he should
suppose that, after careful observation, I had
selected Mattie as the most eligible wife, and
niece-in-law of the whole party. As I wrote, I
began to think she was, and had commenced an
almost lover-like description—-"My Mattie is"
—-when the door softly opened, and Ethel Crowdie,
a little sylph-like thing, with violet eyes
and large brown eyebrows that met, stole into
the room. She had a rose in her hand, which,
as she approached me, she picked to pieces in
an embarrassed manner.

"Mr. Purkiss—-oh, Mr. Purkiss!—-I want to
—-to tell you a secret."

My mind misgave me. The pen dropped
from my hand.

"A secret, Miss Ethel? Me?”

"Yes, you, dear Mr. Purkiss, for no one else
can help us; and oh, you are so good natured!
Mattie told me of your engagement, and asked
me to break it to him; but, oh! I couldn't. It
would kill him!"

"Kill him? Whom? Pray explain."

"Mr. Lowry, the curate. Such a good creature;
but shy. Mattie never knew how much
he loved her, but / did; and now—-oh, Mr.
Purkiss! you haven't seen much of Mattie—-
couldn't you, if you tried very much, like
somebody else instead?"

"Answer me one question first. Did your
sister authorise this appeal?"

She inclined her head.

"Enough," said I, calmly. " I not only
resign my claim, but, if I can in any manner
forward the views of my fortunate rival, pray
command me."

"Oh, how good you are! Thanks—-a thousand
thanks. But it will be difficult. Papa
likes you so very much."

Flattery is at all times sweet, but when it
proceeds from a beautiful mouth, accompanied
by a bewitching smile, who can resist?

"Perhaps," I said, "some—-ahem!—-device
might be hit upon, that might at once meet
your sister's views, and preserve to papa the
connexion he is so good as to desire. Do you,
my dear young lady, see what I mean?" (The
damsel hung her head till I saw the white
parting quite to the back.) "I see you do.
Ethel, for your sister's sake .... what say
you, dear one?"

A few minutes later, I finished the letter to
my uncle. It was not difficult. I carefully
erased "Mattie," and substituted "Ethel."

I had little difficulty with the worthy squire.
So long as he secured me (he was pleased to
say) for one of his dear girls—-he was comparatively
indifferent which—-and I saw that Mr.
Lowry's suit was gained.

All now seemed smooth and happy. My intended
father-in-law was yet expatiating on the
peculiar fitness of the choice I had eventually
made, when his wife entered the room hastily,
with a letter in her hand.

"Mr. Crowdie—-Philip!—-I must speak to
you directly."

I made a movement to withdraw.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Purkiss—-I did not
see you. Pray remain," said the lady; " this
concerns you."

"Upon my word this is most singular!" ejaculated
Mr. Crowdie, after glancing over the
epistle. " It would hardly be believed! Purkiss,
I scarcely know how to tell you. Spifflicate
me (as my wife frequently observes)"—-
(" Oh, Philip! " said the lady)—-" if here is not
another spoke in our wheel! Mrs. Mompesson,
whom we never contradict, writes me here, in
confidence, that, seeing a young stranger (yourself,
Dick) here, and not knowing what his intentions
might be, she had stopped, on the road,