However this might be, a more unaffected girl has seldom been seen, or one so careless of her own natural powers of attraction.

"We have had quite an adventure this morning, dear aunt," said Blanch, advancing and saluting her kind guardian.

"Adventure!" repeated Miss Deborah in surprise.

"and

"Yes," returned Grace, laughing, one, ma'am, that I am glad you were no sharer in, otherwise there might have been quite a scene."

"Ye prating children!" rejoined the old lady, "sit down, and let me hear all about it."

"As we

were returning home," said Blanch, "and, singular enough, talking of my meeting with that notorious___"

"And handsome," chimed in Grace.
"Deer-stealer," continued Blanch, smiling.

"No, no, no," interrupted Grace.

"Deer

stalking it's called; not deer-stealing."

"Well, well, Grace," replied Blanch, "as you please, although I think your definition would be called by some, not far distant, a misnomer. But," continued she, addressing her aunt, "as we were talking of my meeting with Edward Macrone, or Ned Swiftfoot, as he is generally called, and Grace was saying how much she should like to see him, a form sprung over the fence into the lane where we were, quite startling us with the suddenness of the jump, and who should stand before us, within some dozen feet, but the very person we were speaking of."

"If I had been there," said aunt Deborah deliberately, and dispossessing her fingers of a piece of buttered toast about to be conveyed to her questionable powers of mastication, producing a truly imposing effect,-"if I had been there," repeated she, "I would have called for the constable."

This determination on the part of aunt Deborah caused much merriment on the part

of the two girls, as the resolution appeared to them, and with no ordinary degree of consistency, somewhat devoid of the essentials to carry it into effect.

"That idle scapegrace," continued aunt Deborah, warming up with indignation, "whose repeated acts of daring malpractices of various kinds are the constant subjects of conversation from the parlour to the kitchen throughout the county, should be handcuffed and dragged to the village cage-put in the stocks, whipped, and transported!"

"So many think," replied Blanch, "who have more cause to regret his delinquencies than ourselves; but they, hitherto, have found all attempts to attain their wishes leagued with insurmountable difficulties."

"And I am truly glad of it," rejoined Grace with enthusiasm. "He is quite a hero, and I should very much lament his capture; or, indeed, any harm that might befal him."

"Miss Wells!" added aunt Deborah with a

serious deportment, "I wonder what your respected father would say to such a sentiment? As a county magistrate, my dear," continued the old lady, "I wonder what that praiseworthy man would think of his daughter's advocating the cause of a man against whom he has issued at least fifty warrants?"

"That I was unfit for the execution of them, perhaps," returned Grace; and then a loud, merry laugh burst from the lips of Blanch, and was echoed by Grace; and then, after aunt Deborah had surveyed both with a gravity which was exceedingly difficult to maintain, even for a very limited period, she too joined in the mirth not a whit less heartily.

"Dear me, dear me!" exclaimed the old lady, "what a thing it is to have a sharp tongue. I sometimes fancy that I could make a very good reply if I had sufficient time; but it always comes too late. However, tell me more concerning this characterless and lawless

fellow. What did he, upon seeing you so

unexpectedly?"

"Take off his cap," replied Grace, "and made such a bow that many a gentleman might imitate to advantage, and few could surpass.

"Yes," said Blanch; "and although evidently rather confused, from the sudden flush on his face, he bade me 'good morning' in a manner that I never shall forget. It was an indescribable mingling of respect and haughtiness." "Haughtiness!" exclaimed aunt Deborah. "Haughtiness, forsooth! Oddsfish, but we

shall have our grooms and horseboys stiffbacked soon, I suppose!"

66

Really, aunt," returned Grace, who, without possessing any rightful claim to consanguinity, invariably addressed Miss Deborah Sinclair by this title of a relative, "really, aunt," repeated she, "among all this unfortunate, hunted, and driven man's persecutors, not one is more inveterate than yourself,