“Hear to that!” shouted David Dodd. “They have been dining upon varjese” (verjuice), “and them growing children. I shall take them into the kitchen, and put some cold beef into their little holds this minute, poor little lambs.” “Oh yes, do; and I will run and tell the good news.” She ran across the lawn, and came into the hall red with innocent happiness and agitation. “They are found, aunt, they are found; don't cry. Mr. Dodd found them close by, They have had no dinner, so that good, kind Mr. Dodd is taking them into the kitchen. I will send Master Christmas home with a servant. Shall I bring you Reggy to kiss?” “No, no; wicked little wretch, to frighten his poor mother! Whip him, somebody, and put him to bed.” In the evening, soon after the ladies had left the dining-room, the pianoforte was heard playing quadrilles in the drawing-room. David fidgeted on his seat a little, and presently rose and went for his violin, and joined Lucy in the drawing-room alone. Mrs. B. was trying on a dress. Between the tunes Lucy chatted with him as freely and kindly as ever. David was in heaven. When the gentlemen came up from the dining-room, his joy was interrupted, but not for long. The two musicians played with so much spirit, and the fiddle, in particular, was so hearty, that Mrs. Bazalgette proposed a little quiet dance on the carpet: and this drew the other men away from the piano, and left David and Lucy to themselves. She stole a look more than once at his bright eyes and rich ruddy color, and asked herself, “Is that really the same face we found looking wan and haggard on the sea? I think I have put an end to that, at all events.” The consciousness of this sort of power is secretly agreeable to all men and all women, whether they mean to abuse it or no. She smiled demurely at her mastery over this great heart, and said to herself, “One would think I was a witch.” Later in the evening she eyed him again, and thought to herself, “If my company and a few friendly words can make him so happy, it does seem very hard I should select him to shun for the few days he has to pass in England now; but then, if I let him think--I don't know what to do with him. Poor Mr. Dodd.” Miss Fountain did not torment her bolder aspirants with alternate distance and familiarity. She rode out every fine day with Mr. Talboys, and was all affability. She sat next Mr. Hardie at dinner, and was all affability. Narrative has its limits and, to relate in some sequence the honest sailor's tortures in love with a tactician, I have necessarily omitted concurrent incidents of a still tamer character; but the reader may, by the help of his own intelligence, gather their general results from the following dialogues, which took place on the afternoon and evening of the terrible infant's escapade. Mrs. Bazalgette. “'Well, my dear friend, and how does this naughty girl of mine use you?” Mr. Hardie. “As well as I could expect, and better than I deserve.”