“I’ll lay you sixpence, though,” cried Charles, eagerly, “that she’ll stir the king, if she touches that knave--I’ll lay you a shilling.” “Done! done!” cried Mr. Vincent. “Done! done!” cried the boy, stretching out his hand, but his father caught it. “Softly! softly, Charles!--No betting, if you please, my dear. Done and done sometimes ends in--undone.” “It was my fault--it was I who was in the wrong,” cried Vincent immediately. “I am sure you are in the right, now,” said Mr. Percival; “and, what is better than my saying so, Miss Portman thinks so, as her smile tells me.” “You moved, Miss Portman!” cried Charles:--“Oh, indeed! the king’s head stirred, the very instant papa spoke. I knew it was impossible that you could get that knave clear off without shaking the king. Now, papa, only look how they were balanced.” “I grant you,” said Mr. Vincent, “I should have made an imprudent bet. So it is well I made none; for now I see the chances were ten to one, twenty to one, a hundred to one against me.” “It does not appear to me to be a matter of chance,” said Mr. Percival. “This is a game of address, not chance, and that is the reason I like it.” “Oh, papa! Oh, Miss Portman! look how nicely these are balanced. There! my breath has set them in motion. Look, they shake, shake, shake, like the great rocking-stones at Brimham Crags.” “That is comparing small things to great, indeed!” said Mr. Percival. “By-the-by,” cried Mr. Vincent, “Miss Portman has never seen those wonderful rocking-stones--suppose we were to ride to see them to-morrow?” The proposal was warmly seconded by the children, and agreed to by every one. It was settled, that after they had seen Brimham Crags they should spend the remainder of the day at Lord C----‘s beautiful place in the neighbourhood. The next morning was neither too hot nor too cold, and they set out on their little party of pleasure; the children went with their mother, to their great delight, in the _sociable_; and Mr. Vincent, to his great delight, rode with Belinda. When they came within sight of the Crags, Mr. Percival, who was riding with them, exclaimed--“What is that yonder, on the top of one of the great rocking-stones?” “It looks like a statue,” said Vincent. “It has been put up since we were here last.” “I fancy it has got up of itself,” said Belinda, “for it seems to be getting down of itself. I think I saw it stoop. Oh! I see now, it is a man who has got up there, and he seems to have a gun in his hand, has not he? He is going through his manual exercise for his diversion--for the diversion of the spectators below, I perceive--there is a party of people looking at him.” “Him!” said Mr. Percival. “I protest it is a woman!” said Vincent. “No, surely,” said Belinda: “it cannot be a woman!” “Not unless it be Mrs. Freke,” replied Mr. Percival.