"Let me lend you some. How much will you have? We are friends, you know, Charles, and you can have no feelings of delicacy in borrowing from me. See," said Mowbray, taking out his purse, "I have a plenty of pistoles. Take a dozen." "And how many will you have left?" "Let me see--there are thirteen. I shall still have enough. There are twelve, Charles." And he counted them out, leaving the single coin in his purse. Hoffland, however, drew back, and obstinately closed his hands. "You ought to be ashamed to tempt an inexperienced youth to go in debt," he said; "that is your fine guardianship, Mr. Mowbray." "Come, Charles; this is folly. You do not become my debtor; I do not want the money. Take it, and repay it when your own comes." "No, I will not. But still I want a pair of gloves. Do me a greater favor still, Ernest. Give me those pretty fringed gloves you wear, and which are plainly too small for your huge hands. I know Miss Lucy gave them to you, for she said as much the other day--I asked her!--and now I want them. Don't refuse me, Ernest; my hand is much smaller and handsomer than yours, and they will just fit me." Mowbray took off the gloves, asking himself, with a sad smile, what charm this boy exercised over him. "There they are then, Charles," he said; "I can refuse you nothing." "Suppose I asked for the hand as well as the gloves?" "The hand? Perfectly at your service," said Mowbray, holding out his hand; "I can only give it to you in a friendly spirit, however, and there it is." "No," said Hoffland, drawing back; "I will not accept it upon those terms--but I have the gloves. Thank you, Ernest. Perhaps some day I may ask you to accept a present from me; or at least I promise not to refuse you if you ask what I have this moment refused." And laughing heartily, Hoffland cried: "Just look at those flowers! and there is the great city of Williamsburg! We pass from Indian Camps to learned halls--from barbarism to civilization. Come! let us get into Gloucester street--that promenade of elegance and fashion! Come on, Ernest!" And they entered the town. CHAPTER XXIII. HOW SIR ASINUS FISHED FOR SWALLOWS, AND WHAT HE CAUGHT. Gloucester Street was alive with a motley crowd of every description, from the elegant dame who drove by in her fine four-horse chariot with its outriders, to the most obscure denizen of the surrounding old field, come on this particular day to Williamsburg, in view of the great ball to be held at the _Raleigh_ tavern. Mowbray and Hoffland gazed philosophically upon the moving crowd, but threaded their way onward, without much comment. Hoffland was anxious to reach his lodging, it seemed; the culminating sun had already made his face rosy with its warm radiance, and he held a white handkerchief before his eyes to protect them. "It is growing very warm," he said; "really, Ernest, I think your present will come into active use before the summer." "My gloves?" "No, mine."