“Oh yes, miss, master is come, but he got out at the foot of the hill, and walked up through the shrubbery with the young gentleman to show him the grounds.” On this news Lucy rose hastily, snatched up a garden hat, and, without any other preparation, went out to intercept her uncle. As she stepped into the garden she heard a loud scream, followed by angry voices; she threw her hands up to heaven in dismay and ran toward the sounds. They came from the back garden. She went like lightning round the corner of the house, and came plump upon an agitated group, of whom she made one directly, spellbound. Here stood Aunt Bazalgette, her head turned haughtily, her cheeks scarlet. There stood Mr. Fountain on the other side of the rustic seat, red as fire, too, but wearing a hang-dog look, and behind him young Arthur, pale, with two eyes like saucers, gazing awestruck at the first row he had ever seen between a full-grown lady and gentleman. Our narrative must take a step to the rear, as an excellent writer, Private ----* phrases it, otherwise you might be misled to suppose that Uncle Fountain was quarreling with Mrs. B. for having set her foot in sacred Font Abbey. * “I had an escape myself. As I opened the door of a house, a black fellow was behind waiting for me, and made a chop. I took a step to the rear, fired through the door, and cooked his goose.”--_Times._ No, the pudding was richer than that. Mr. Fountain had young Arthur in charge, and, not being an ill-natured old gentleman, he pitied the boy, and did all he could to make him feel he was coming among friends. He sent the carriage on, and showed Arthur the grounds, and covertly praised the place and all about it, Lucy included, for was not she an appendage of his abbey. “You will see my niece--a charming young lady, who will be kind to you, and you must make friends with her. She is very accomplished--paints. She plays like an angel, too. Ah! there she is. She has got the gown on I gave her--a compliment to me--a very pretty attention, Arthur, the day of my return. What is she doing?” Arthur, with his young eyes, settled this question. “The lady is asleep. See, she has dropped her book.” And; in fact, the whole attitude was lax and not ungraceful. Her right hand hung down, and the domestic story, its duty done, reposed beneath. “Now, Arthur,” said the senior, making himself young to please the boy, and to show him that, if he looked old, he was not worn out, “would you like a bit of fun? We will startle her--we'll give her a kiss.” Arthur hung back irresolute, and his cheeks were dyed with blushes.