r and silkier than ever I saw."

"Agnes Bulteel!" cried Charlotte. "O Sophia! where are her last letters?
I am sure father would like to hear about Joe and the jolly-jist."

"Joe Bulteel is no fool," said the squire warmly. "It is the way around
here to laugh a bit at Joe; but Joe aims to do right, and he is a very
spirity lad. What are you and Sophia laughing at? Eh? What?"

"Get the letters, Sophia. Julius and Harry will enjoy them I know. Harry
must remember Joe Bulteel."

"Certainly. Joe has carried my line and creel many a day. Trout couldn't
fool Joe. He was the one to find plovers' eggs, and to spot a blaeberry
patch. Joe has some senses ordinary people do not have, I think. I
should like to hear about Joe and the _what_?"

"The jolly-jist,--Professor Sedgwick really. Joe has been on the fells
with the professor."

So they drew around the fire, and Sophia went for the letters. She was a
good reader, and could give the county peculiarities with all their
quaint variations of mood and temper and accent. She was quite aware
that the reading would exhibit her in an entirely new _role_ to Julius,
and she entered upon the task with all the confidence and enthusiasm
which insured the entertainment. And as both Professor Sedgwick and Joe
Bulteel were well known to the squire and Harry, they entered into the
joke also with all their hearts; and one peal of laughter followed
another, as the squire's comments made many a distinct addition to the
unconscious humor of the letters.

At that point of the story where Joe had triumphantly pocketed his last
five shillings, and gone home reflecting on what a "famous job it would
be to sell all the stones on their fell at five shillings a little
bagful," Mrs. Sandal entered. A servant followed with spiced wine and
dainty bits of cake and pastry; and then, after a merry interval of
comment and refreshment, Sophia resumed the narrative.

All this happened at the end of May, Miss Sandal; and one day last
August father went down Lorton way, and it was gayly late when he
got home. As he was sitting on his own side the fire, trying to
loose the buttons of his spats, he said to Joe, "I called at
Skeal-Hill on my road home." Mother was knitting at her side of the
hearth. She hadn't opened her mouth since father came home; nay,
she hadn't so much as looked at him after the one hard glower that
she gave him at first; but when he said he'd been a