“That I feel sure, he will! If Heaven should grant me a few more years of life, I shall take great delight in watching the growth of little Leonard Lyon,” replied the old gentleman, as he arose, and kissed the mother and the babe, and left the room. The following Sunday proved to be a very fine day. At an early hour, the capacious family carriage of General Lyon was at the door, well warmed and aired for the reception of the delicate mother and the tender infant. Not even on her first bridal day, had Drusilla looked so lovely as she did now, when she came down-stairs, dressed for church, her delicate, pale beauty, still more tenderly softened by her simple bonnet of white velvet, and wrappings of white furs. She was attended by mammy, dressed in her Sunday’s best, and carrying the baby, richly arrayed in his christening robes. General Lyon, Anna, Drusilla, the nurse and the baby rode in the carriage. Dick Hammond, on horseback, escorted them. The parish church was at Saulsburg, six, eight, or ten miles off, according to conflicting statements. So, early as they set out, they were not likely to be much too early to join in the commencement of the service. When they reached the turnpike gate, they found old Andy on duty. Seeing Dick cantering on in advance of the approaching carriage, he placed himself behind the gate, and lifted up both his arms, while he called aloud to his wife: “Jenny, woman! come out wi’ ye, and tak the toll, whiles I stand here to keep yon daft laddie frae louping o’er the bar again!” In answer to the summons, Jenny appeared just in time to receive Mr. Hammond, who quietly drew rein before the door, paid for himself, and the carriage behind him, and then with a bow, rode on his way. The carriage followed; but as it passed, Mrs. Birney got a glimpse of the passengers inside and after doing so, she dropped her chin, and lifted her eyebrows, and remained transfixed and staring, like one demented. “Eh, woman! what’s come o’er ye? Are ye bewitched?” questioned Mr. Birney, as he passed her, in going into the house. “Na, gudeman, I’m no bewitched; but just amazed like! Didna ye see yon bonny leddy lying back among the cushions? She that was all happed about wi’ braw white velvets and furs?” “Aweel, and what of her?” “Hech, gudeman, she’s na ither than the puir bit lassie that came ben to us that night o’ the grand storm.” “Hout, woman! hauld your tongue! no’ to ken the differ between a born leddy like this are, and a young gilpey like yon!” “I ken weel the differ between a leddy and a gilpey. And I dinna need _dress_ to instruct me in it, either, gudeman. I kenned the lass was na gilpey when I saw her in her auld gray cloak; and I kenned her again in the bit glint I had of her bonny face as she lay back in her braw velvets and furs, wi’ her wee bairn by her side. Eh! but I’d like to hear the rights iv that!” “The rights o’ what, woman?”