, in an absent way, took Miss Redbud's hand, and was guilty of
the bad taste of squeezing it.

The reply and the action seemed to recall Redbud to herself; and she
suddenly drew back with a blush.

Verty looked astounded. In the midst of his confusion a martial
"hem!" was heard, and Mr. Jinks, who had been carefully adjusting his
toilette, drew near the lovers.

"Hem!" said Mr. Jinks, "a very fine day, Miss Redbud. Loveliest of
your sex and delight of the world, have I the pleasure of seeing you
in that high state of happiness and health which of right should
belong to you?"

With this Mr. Jinks bowed and gesticulated, and spread out his arms
like a graceful giraffe, and dispensed on every side the most engaging
grimaces.

Redbud bowed, with an amused look in her little blushing face; and
just as she had got through with this ceremony, another personage was
added to the company.

This was an elderly lady of severe aspect, who, clad in black, and
with an awfully high cap, which cast a shadow as it came, appeared at
the door of the house, and descended like a hawk upon the group.

"Well, Miss Summers!" she said, in a crooked and shrill voice,
"talking to gentlemen, I see! Mr. Jinks, against rules, sir--come,
Miss, you know my wishes on this subject."

As she spoke, her eyes fell upon the turkey hanging from Cloud's
saddle-bow.

"Young man," she said to Verty, "what's the price of that turkey?"

Verty was looking at Redbud, and only knew that the awful Mrs. Scowley
had addressed him, from Redbud's whispering to him.

"_Anan_?" he said.

"I say, what's the price of that turkey?" continued the old lady; "if
you are moderate, I'll buy it. Don't think, though, that I am going
to give you a high price. You mountain people," she added, looking at
Verty's wild costume, "can get along with very little money. Come, how
much?"

Verty on that occasion did the only artful thing which he ever
accomplished--but what will not a lover do?

He went to Cloud, took the fine gobbler from the saddle, and bringing
it to Mrs. Scowley, laid it at the feet of that awful matron with a
smile.

"You may have him," said Verty, "I don't want him."

"Don't want him!"

"No, ma'am--I just shot him so--on my way to my writing."

"Your writing, sir?" said Mrs. Scowley, gazing at Verty with some
astonishment--"what writing?"

"I'm in Mr. Rushton's office, and I write," Verty replied, "but I
don't like it much."

Mrs. Scowley for