"And I too," replied Alfred, "prophesy, that at the same time that I marry and settle as you have described, Miss Emma Percival will yield up her charms to some long-legged black nondescript sort of a fellow, who will set up a whisky-shop and instal his wife as barmaid to attend upon and conciliate his customers." "Emma, I think you have the worst of this peeping into futurity," said Mary, laughing. "Yes, if Alfred were not a false prophet, of which there are always many going about," replied Emma; "however, I hope your prophecy may be the true one, Mary, and then we shall get rid of him." "I flatter myself that you would be very sorry if I went away; you would have no one to tease, at all events," replied Alfred, "and that would be a sad loss to yourself." "Well, there's some sense in that remark," said Emma; "but the cows are waiting to be milked, and so, Mr Alfred, if you are on your good behaviour, you had better go and bring us the pails." "I really pity Alfred," said Mary, as soon as he was out of hearing; "his sacrifice has been very great, and, much as he must feel it, how well he bears up against it." "He is a dear, noble fellow," replied Emma; "and I do love him very much, although I cannot help teasing him." "But on some points you should be cautious, my dear sister; you don't know what pain you give." "Yes I do, and am always sorry when I have done it, but it is not until afterwards that I recollect it, and then I am very angry with myself. Don't scold me, dear Mary, I will try to be wiser; I wonder whether what you say will come to pass, and we shall have neighbours; I wish we had, if it were only on account of those Indians." "I think it very probable," replied Mary; "but time will shew." Alfred then returned with the pails, and the conversation took another turn.