We were standing in Sir Nicholas’s kitchen-garden at the time, at a spot where Jasper had recently set down a row of raspberry canes. She snatched one of them up and began to belabour me soundly across head and shoulders, caring nothing where the blows fell. I remembered with a whimsical sense of humour that at first I had not known what to do, but that at last I had twisted the cane out of her little hands and broken it across my knee, whereupon she had burst into tears. In truth, she was a curious creature as a child, and I had little relish in the prospect of meeting her again, so I determined that if I came across some trusty servant in Francis French’s park, I would give him the packet and go on my way. But as chance would have it, I had hardly just turned out of the highroad when whom should I light upon but Mistress Alison herself, going abroad with two great hounds, whom she kept to heel with a stout whip. Although I had seen naught of her for nine years I knew her again at once, for there was no mistaking the flash of her hawk’s eye nor the quick fashion in which she turned it on myself. But she had forgotten me, and at that I felt some natural pique, and resented her forgetfulness. “Mistress Alison French?” says I, drawing rein at her side, and staring hard at her beauty as I swung my cap to the saddle bow. “The same, sir,” says she, that quick glance of hers mixed with a little wonder. “But----” and then she recognised me. “Ah,” says she, “’tis Dick Coope! So you know me, Dick, although----” “Although you have grown so monstrous handsome, cousin,” says I, a little rudely. “’Tis just because you yourself are a proper-looking man that I did not recognise you,” she said with a frown. “You were as ungainly a boy as ever I saw, Master Richard, and I don’t think your manners are improved even now.” I said naught, but sat staring at her. She had grown to a divine tallness, her figure was as plump and ripe as a woman’s should be, there was a rich colour in her cheeks, and a fine glossiness in her dark hair that was mighty taking. As for her mouth it was as sweet a morsel as a man could wish to taste, and I could see that if her eyes would melt they would put one in such a way as few women can--they were so full of that swimming roguishness that can become tender and alluring. Howbeit, she kept them hard enough at that time. “And what brings Master Dick here?” asks she, fingering her whip. “This packet, fair cousin,” says I, and handed her Sir Nicholas’s letter. “From my uncle,” she says. “You give me leave to read it, cousin? I can ill bide delay of any sort.” “’Tis reward enough,” says I teasingly, “to sit by and gaze on so much beauty.”