MABEL'S PROGRESS.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "AUNT MARGARET'S TROUBLE."

BOOK III.

CHAPTER VII. NEWS FROM HAMMERHAM.

RETURNING from the theatre, they passed the
open door of the kitchen on their way into the
house, and Mrs. Walton looked in to say good
evening to old Joe, who was sitting by the turf
fire in a great chair covered with patchwork,
and smoking a long pipe.

"Good evening, Mr. Bonny, how are you
tonight?"

"Wa-all, Missus Walton," responded the
old man in a slow growl, "I don't know as
there's much the matter with me, 'ceptin' as
I've growed old. My old carcase ain't good for
nothin' now, but to set still from mornin' till
night in this here darned old cheer,"

Joe Bonny never regarded the individual
whom he was addressing, nor even turned
his head, but habitually uttered his remarks in
the manner of a soliloquy, and was so slow,
so gruff, and so inarticulate, as to be nearly
unintelligible to strangers.

"Ah, sure, Joe," said Biddy, bustling
cheerfully about the kitchen, "don't be afther
repoining now! Ye've done yer share of work
in this world; can't ye be aisy and rest
comfortable in the evenin' of yer days?"

"Yah!" snarled Joe. "Rest! There niver
warn't a Paddy yet as I ever heerd on, as
wasn't up to takin' any amount o' that there.
They thinks a Englishman just lunattic for
wantin' to do anything else in the 'varsal world
but rest!"

A significant commentary on Joe's speech
was supplied by old Bridget's busy activity.
The sweet-tempered old soul applied herself to
the preparation of her lodgers' supper, now and
then stopping to alter the position of the cushion
behind her husband's back, or to put his
tobacco-box within more convenient reach of
his hand, or to pile a few fresh turfs on the
hearth.

"Don't you find it warm enough, to do without
fire here in the evening?" said Mrs. Walton,
turning to leave the kitchen.

"/ do, ma'am," answered Biddy; "but Joe
likes the bit of foire, the craythur. Sure he
can't move about to set his blood cirkylatin',
and it does be company for him when I'm
obliged to lave him alone."

During supper Biddy lingered in the sitting-
room, on one excuse or the other, to express
her delight at the performance, and to retail all
the favourable criticisms which Teddy Molloy
had brought home.

"Don't sit up for us, any longer, Biddy,"
said Mrs. Walton. "I am sure you must be
very tired."

"Oh, sorra a bit, ma'am," responded the old
woman, cheerfully. "But I'll wish yez all good
night, an' pleasant dhraems, an'—Arrah, see
there now!" she exclaimed suddenly, "whata
baste I am to be forgettin' the letther, and
me having it in my pocket all the time!"

"A letter, Biddy?"

"A letther, no less, ma'am, and 'tis for the
young lady, God bless her. Sure it came not
more than foive minutes afther ye was gone to
the theatre, an' I tuk it from Dennis the post-
man my own self, and put it in my pocket; and
sure I give no more thought to it from that
moment to this, so I didn't! There it is, miss."
Biddy handed to Mabel a thick letter with the
Hammerham postmark.

"No bad news, dear, I hope?" said Aunt
Mary, with a searching glance at Mabel's face
as she read her letter.

"Oh no, aunt, thank you. Mamma and
Dooley are well. And mamma tells me that a
—a friend of mine is going to be married."

"Halloa, Mabel!" cried Jack, in his random
way, saying what came uppermost. "I hope it
isn't a case of 'she never told her love,' and
letting what's his name, like the thingummy,
eat up the damask roses, eh? You look quite
tragic. Is he false, Mabel, fickle, faithless?"

"How silly you are, Jack!" said Mabel,
flushing crimson. "The friend who is going
to be married, is a lady, an old school-fellow
of mine, Miss Augusta Charlewood."

"Any relation to the gentleman of whose
kindness little Corda speaks so much?" asked
Mrs. Walton.

"His sister."

There was a little shade over Mabel.

"You are tired, dear child," said her aunt.
"Go to bed."

Mabel rose, shook hands with Jack, and kissed
her aunt in silence.

"Shut your door, Mabel, so that I may not
disturb you when I come into my room. I am