"No," returned Gainsford; "master said 'one of you' as they was at dinner, just as I come into the room. He was in jolly spirits, and kept going so: "What's a month! champagne, Gainsford," and you should have sees Mrs.--not Stump, but Chump. She'll be tipsy to-night, and I shall bust if I have to carry of her upstairs. Well, she is fun!--she don't mind handin' you a five-shilling piece when she's done tender: but I have nearly lost my place two or three time along of that woman. She'd split logs with laughing:--no need of beetle and wedges! 'Och!' she sings out, 'by the piper!'--and Miss Cornelia sitting there--and, 'Arrah!'--bother the woman's Irish," (thus Gainsford gave up the effort at imitation, with a spirited Briton's mild contempt for what he could not do) "she pointed out Miss Cornelia and said she was like the tinker's dog:--there's the bone he wants himself, and the bone he don't want anybody else to have. Aha! ain't it good?" "Oh! the tinker's dog! won't I remember that!" said the damsel, "she can't be such a fool." "Well, I don't know," Gainsford meditated critically. "She is; and yet she ain't, if you understand me. What I feel about her is--hang it! she makes ye laugh." Sir Purcell moved from the shadow of the tree as noiselessly as he could, so that this enamoured couple might not be disturbed. He had already heard more than he quite excused himself for hearing in such a manner, and having decided not to arrest the man and make him relate exactly what Mr. Pole had spoken that evening at the Brookfield dinner-table, he hurried on his return to town.