“Open book,” the Loafer said. “Well, you hev no ’magination. But ef ye don’t believe what I’m tellin’, you can go git the paper an’ read it yourself.” “Come, come; no argyin’.” The Patriarch was in his soothing mood. “What become o’ Lord?” “Lord hated Reginal’ with a bitter hatred, the paper sayd, because of the death of _M-e-p-h-i-s-t-o_, an’ now, ez Alice Fairfax begin to look not onkindly on the handsome stranger, his cup was more embittered an’ he wowed revenge. Things kept gittin’ hotter an’ hotter ’round the castel. Ole man Fairfax was tickled to death with Reginal’ an’ ’sisted on him stayin’ all summer. Lord come over regular every day, spyin’ ’round an’ settin’ up with Alice ’hen he’d git a chancet. Time an’ agin, the paper sayd, he asted her to be his own, but she spurned him. The last time he asted her was at a huntin’ party they hed at the castel. Everybody in the county was there--Lord Mussex, Duke Dumford, Earl Minnows, Lady Montezgewy an’ a lot of others--all over to hunt.” “Hunt what?” asked the Miller. “Well, I s’pose they would be likely to drive five or six mile over to Fairfax’s to hunt eggs--wouldn’t they?” roared the Loafer. “Hunt what? Mighty souls! What would they hunt? Foxes, of course. The whole party started off after the hounds, Alice Fairfax an’ Lord Desmon leadin’ with----” “Hol’ on!” cried the Patriarch. “Did you say weemen an’ all, a-huntin’ foxes? That Englan’ must be a strange placet. Why, it ain’t safe to trust a woman with a gun. Oh, what a pictur! S’pose we was to go huntin’ that ’ay with our weemen.” The old man leaned back and shook. “Pictur it! Jest pictur it! Why, they ’ud be blowed afore they got to the top o’ the first ridge.” “An’ we’d hev to spend most of our time lettin’ the bars up an’ down so they could git th’oo the fences,” the Tinsmith said. “Well, the weemen over there was along--least that’s what the article sayd,” the Loafer continued. “They got track o’ a fox an’ final catched him in a lonely bit o’ woods. They give his tail to Lady Montezgewy, who----” “She couldn’t ’a’ made much of a hat outen jest the tail,” said the G. A. R. Man. “Well, the article doesn’t explain much about that. It sais while these things is occurrin’ we will take the reader to another part o’ the fiel’ where Lord Desmon kneels at the feet of Alice Fairfax. The paper sais she sais, ‘I loves another.’ ‘What,’ sais he, the paper sais, springin’ to his feet an’ makin’ a movement ez tho’ graspin’ an unseen foe. ‘What,’ he sais, ‘that low painter varlet!’ Jest then, the paper sais, the bushes was pushed aside an’ forth jumped Reginal’ Deeverox. ‘You here, Miss Fairfax?’ he sais, the paper sais. ‘I’ve hunted fer ye fur an’ near.’ In his eagerness to reach her side a twig cot his coat-sleeve an’ tore it wide open. The paper sais ez Lord Desmon looked upon the splendid figure of his rival he seen there on his arm--What? the paper sais. An eagle!” “Now, watch for a good ole wrastle,” cried the Patriarch.