Betty and Tom Boddily officiated, and Sylvanus, as of a soberer age, and a little tired with his rowing, was invited to join the merry circle which surrounded the rural feast Lively talk and flights of humour alternated with the emptying and filling of cups. Thorsby proposed a song, and sung Dibdin’s “Black-eyed Susan,” Miss Drury delighted them with the False Knight, “I love and I ride away.” When some other songs had followed, and Tom Boddily had given them a further bird performance on his magic pipes, “Now,” said Thorsby, “for a riddle. You don’t know it; for I have just made it.” “Splendid!” said they all; “now for it.” “What is that which lies down, and stands up, and sails, and flies, at the same time?” “It is a genuine, bonâ-fide riddle, is it,” asked George Woodburn, “and no hoax, Thorsby?” “Oh! out and out genuine,” said Thorsby. Nobody could guess it. Thorsby was delighted, and would not tell it. “No, as it was bran new, it must not be let out all at once.” Suddenly he said. “Ah! I’ll ask Tom Boddily, he is as sharp as a needle with two points.” Tom was at the fire, at some distance, laying on more sticks. Up jumped Thorsby. There was a general titter, and hands held up in merry amazement—he did not hear or see them. The next moment Thorsby was at Tom’s side, and propounded the riddle. “Did you see that heron?” Tom said, pointing down the river. “No, Tom,” said Thorsby. He turned, gazing in vain down the river. “But never mind the heron,” said Thorsby; “the riddle! the riddle!” “I have it,” said Tom, “it is windmill sails.” “Windmill sails!” exclaimed Thorsby. “How in the world could you guess that?” “I read it,” said Tom. “Read it! No, impossible!” exclaimed Thorsby; “for I only just made it. Read it! where _did_ you read it?” “Mr. George knows it,” said Tom. “Never!” exclaimed Thorsby, running back to the party, whom, to his wonder, he found in a full chorus of laughter, and the ladies clapping their hands in delight. “What is up?” said Thorsby, wondering still more; “what is the meaning of it?” And throwing himself down, he said, “Boddily says, George, you know my riddle, and that he himself knows it, and has read it.” At this the merriment increased extremely, and George, taking a page of note-paper from Thorsby’s back, which he had pinned there, with the words largely written in pencil, “WINDMILL SAILS,” held it before Thorsby’s face, amidst the jubilance of the ladies. “Ha-a-a!” said Thorsby, “now I see! That’s where Boddily read it. That’s why he pretended there was a heron, to make me turn my back towards him. Well, George, I give you credit for great cleverness; I hope you give me a little for making that riddle.” “Oh, it is excellent—first-rate,” said all together.