"Not many," replied Flora; "but a few. There’s the clergyman--you have seen him--good old Mr. Ward--" "Oh yes, I have seen him,--the bald-headed little man, with such a benevolent look and patronising smile, that I quite expected him to pat me on the head and say, ’There’s a good little dear!’" "Naughty little dear, I should say," laughed Flora. "Oh, he is such a kind old friend, and preaches so beautifully, I don’t know what we should do without him. We have known him and his dear old lady so long--he was a school-fellow of my dear father. Then there’s Captain Lepine--" "A captain! that sounds more lively. Is he an agreeable individual?" "Yes; he takes care of my garden, and brings me cuttings of his roses. He’s an invalid--" "Interesting of course." "And he lost a leg in battle--" "I hope that he does not stump about on a wooden one; one could hardly stand that, even in a romance. I suppose that he was wounded at Sobraon, or some of those Indian battles with unpronounceable names?" "No; he was wounded at Navarino." "Navarino!" exclaimed Ada, with affected horror; "then he must be a century old at the least! Does no one live in this place under eighty years of age?" "Yes; the doctor and his wife, and half-a-dozen little ones, the eldest not out of the school-room." "And nobody besides?" "Mrs. Lacy, the widow of a banker, who occupies the white house which you observe yonder; but she does not see a great deal of society." "I should think not," observed Ada, drily. "It is a case of ’the Spanish fleet thou canst not see, for it is not in sight.’" "And she is often ill--" "With ennui, no doubt." "Ah! and I was forgetting old Miss Butterfield; we passed her just as we turned into the fields." "Almost bent into a hoop, like an old witch, and dressed after the fashion of our great-grandmothers. If she had only sported a red cloak in addition to her poke-bonnet, I should have gone and asked her to tell my fortune!" "Fie! fie! how can you talk so?" cried Flora. "Well, well, my good coz," exclaimed Ada, as she threw herself down on the roots of a gnarled oak, which, green with moss, offered a tempting seat; "I can only say that I consider you buried alive here--quite buried alive!" she repeated with emphasis, plucking a daisy and pulling it to pieces; "and you so charming and fair, I am always fancying how Eddis would paint you, or whether you have not sat to him already, you are so like one of his soft, saintly beauties!" "Don’t be so absurd," said Flora, colouring. "Ah! that was all that was wanting, a little heightened blush on the pale white rose," cried Ada, looking with real admiration, perhaps not unmixed with envy, at the fair delicate features before her; for the gipsy hat which Flora wore had fallen back on her shoulders, and as the breeze played amongst her auburn tresses, and the shadow of the young leaves fell on her gentle brow, she looked one whom to behold was to love.