_Just._ Right, right. It’s a pity, child, you are not upon the Bench; ha! ha! ha! _Lucy_. And when I went to his old hiding place, there it was; but you see, papa, he did not take the box. _Just._ No, no, no! because the thief was a magpie. No _man_ would have taken the money and left the box. You see I was right; no _man_ would have left the box, hey? _Lucy_. Certainly not, I suppose; but I’m so very glad, old man, that you have obtained your money. _Just._ Well then, child, here—take my purse, and add that to it. We were a little too hasty with the committal—hey? _Land._ Ay, and I fear I was, too; but when one is touched about the credit of one’s house, one’s apt to speak warmly. _Old M._ Oh, I’m the happiest old man alive! You are all convinced that I told you no lies. Say no more—say no more. I am the happiest man! Miss, you have made me the happiest man alive! Bless you for it! _Land._ Well now, I’ll tell you what. I know what I think—you must keep that there magpie, and make a show of him, and I warrant he’ll bring you many an honest penny; for it’s a _true story_, and folks would like to hear it, I hopes— _Just._ (_eagerly_). And, friend, do you hear? you’ll dine here to-day, you’ll dine here. We have some excellent ale. I will have you drink my health—that’s poz!—hey? You’ll drink my health, won’t you—hey? _Old M._ (_bows_). Oh! and the young lady’s, if you please. _Just._ Ay, ay, drink her health—she deserves it. Ay, drink my darling’s health. _Land._ And please your worship, it’s the right time, I believe, to speak of the goose-pie now; and a charming pie it is, and it’s on the table. _Will._ And Mr. Smack, the curate, and Squire Solid, and the doctor, sir, are come, and dinner is upon the table. _Just._ Then let us say no more; but do justice immediately to the goose-pie; and, darling, put me in mind to tell this story after dinner. (_After they go out_, _the Justice stops_.) “Tell this story”—I don’t know whether it tells well for me; but I’ll never be positive any more—_that’s poz_! THE MIMIC. CHAPTER I. MR. and Mrs. Montague spent the summer of the year 1795 at Clifton with their son Frederick, and their two daughters Sophia and Marianne. They had taken much care of the education of their children; nor were they ever tempted, by any motive of personal convenience or temporary amusement, to hazard the permanent happiness of their pupils. Sensible of the extreme importance of early impressions, and of the powerful influence of external circumstances in forming the characters and the manners, they were now anxious that the variety of new ideas and new objects which would strike the minds of their children should appear in a just point of view.