"What?" inquired Vincent, anxious to
know all, "would it be very unlucky if he
failed to find them?"

"Unlucky! what do you mean?  But
perhaps we have made a mistake," said the
young lady. Then, after a pause, "But we
have gone too far to recede: how much do
you know?"

"Nothing; but that I would die to be of
service to you; employ me in any way you
like."

"Thank you," she said coldly, "I have no
need of your services," and the conversation
became general. This time it was about
the delights of a London life; and Blue-
ribbons, who had never been in London,
except on a shopping expedition with her
uncle and aunt, was the eloquent exponent of
all the advantages of a residence in town,
"But it must be very fatiguing," she said,
"and after all, not so respectable or so
useful, as to live on one's own land, and
among one's own friends. Only think," she
said with the greatest earnestness, "what
an attraction high life must have when it
keeps a person like Mr. Willis of Barcombe
Leas for years and years away from his
beautiful place."

"Mr. Who?" exclaimed Vincent, growing
very red, while Uncle Sam stopped short in
his description of a dog-fight at Battersea,
and puffed out his cheeks as if he were blowing
a mail-coach horn.

"Mr. Willis," repeated the young lady.
"He devotes all his time to amusement and
fine society. We hear sad accounts of him:
how he dances all night at dukes' parties,
and gives entertainments like the feasts in
the Arabian Nights, and all the while there is
left a very fine estate altogether neglected
and no house built, and no school supported
(except by a yearly subscription, which doesn't
do half so much good as a little personal
superintendence), and he takes no interest in
the poor, nor the state of the parish; and
doesn't even know there's a new organ in the
loft."

"He must be a very silly conceited fool of
a fellow," exclaimed the good Mr. Dalwood,
"to neglect the pleasantest and most useful
duties of a country gentleman's life."

"And where did you get all this information
about him?" inquired Vincent, in as
unconcerned a manner as he could put on.
"I scarcely think his mode of life deserves so
brilliant a character."

"You know him, then?" said Blue-ribbons,
blushing to the tips of her fingers. "O, I'm
afraid I've said too much again. I'm always
getting into scrapes."

Here a very sharp shrill voice said, "I
fear you are;" and, on tracing the sound
to its original seat, it was perceived to arise
from the starched lips of Miss Lavinia
Dalwood, whose whispered communications with
Mr. Smith had continued all the evening.
The speech was very short, but it was very
effective. It produced a solemn silence in the
room, which was broken by the benevolent
host.

"Never mind what Aunt Lavy says, my
dear little niece; you never get into scrapes
that you can't get out of."

"That remains to be seen," rejoined the
duenna;" but I don't desire to bring our
family differences to the notice of perfect
strangers, whose very names we are not sure
of, and who, for anything we know to the
contrary," she paused a moment, as if
considering what awful things might be hidden
under their incognito, and Mr. Smith broke
in (Mr. Smith was surgeon to the A division
of the rural police, and was very suspicious).

"I have known of members of the swell-mob,"
he said, "who got into private houses
by very ingenious devices. I recollect one
instance of a man calling at a farm in the
next parish to this, and pretending to be a
cousin of the family, who had gone many
years before to America. In the middle of
the night he emptied the plate-chest, and
got hold of all the money in the drawers,
and broke his leg in getting out of the
bedroom window—a compound fracture—
I set it myself—and he was transported
for life."

Mr. Dalwood, the best-tempered of men,
was distressed beyond measure at the turn
the conversation was taking. "Don't be
offended," he said, "Mr. Smith has a most
ill-judged collection of anecdotes for our
amusement to-night, and as to Aunt Lavy, I
don't know what has come to her."

But Aunt Lavy rose up in her might
and opened the door. On the landing was
seen a maid-servant in a state of alarm,
surrounded by various articles; and as each
was named by the indignant vestal, it was
thrown with a chuck into the room, which
shook the floor. "I'll tell what has come
to Aunt Lavy," she said, "a saddle has come
to her" (enter saddle, with flat top carefully
chalked); "and a lump of rosin has come to
her" (enter rosin); "and a red horse-cloth
with silver edging has come to her" (enter
horse-cloth); "and a pair of satin slippers
covered with spangles, has come to her"
(enter the slippers); "and a coil of wire, and
twelve yards of rope, and a box of chalk,
and a salmon-coloured jacket, and a tin dagger,
and twelve sconces for candles, and a pot of
rouge, and a silk bridle and a riding whip."
All these were tumbled in with amazing
speed by the bewildered maid, who stood on
the lauding gazing with surprise and terror
at the supposed equestrians. "And now,"
said Aunt Lavinia, looking at the spoil-
encumbered carpet, "what have you to say
for yourselves?" The whole party was taken by
surprise, Mr. Vincent Willis was indignant
at the folly of his relative in loading their
fishing excursion with such a ridiculous set
of ornaments, and looked into the face of