s would swiftly take them, though he were next
moment hanged for it. I marvel, indeed, that Doctor Luke could resist
them; but resist he did: as I know, for, what with lurking and peeping
(my heart being anxiously enlisted), I took pains to discover the fact,
and was in no slight degree distressed by it. For dimples were made for
kissing--else for what?--and should never go unsatisfied; they are so
frank in pleading that 'twould be sheer outrage for the lips of men to
feel no mad desire: which, thank God! seldom happens. But, then, what
concern have I, in these days, with the identical follies of dimples and
kissing?

"'Tis a wonderful clever doctor," said I to my sister, my glance fixed
in amazement on her glowing cheeks, "that we got in Doctor Luke."

"Ah, yes!" she sighed: but so demure that 'twas not painful to hear it.

"An', ecod!" I declared, "'tis a wonderful clever medicine that he've
been givin' you."

"Ecod! Davy Roth," she mocked, a sad little laugh in her eyes, "an'
how," said she, "did you manage to find it out?"

"Bessie!" cried I, in horror. "Do you stop that swearin'! For an you
don't," I threatened, "I'll give you----"

"Hut!" she flouted. "'Tis your own word."

"Then," I retorted, "I'll never say it again. Ecod! but I won't."

She pinched my cheek.

"An' I'm wonderin'," I sighed, reverting to the original train of
thought, which was ever a bothersome puzzle, "how he can keep from
kissin' you when he puts the spoon in your mouth. Sure," said I, "he've
such a wonderful good chance t' do it!"

It may have been what I said; it may have been a familiar footfall in
the hall: at any rate, my sister fled in great confusion. And, pursuing
heartily, I caught her in her room before she closed the door, but
retreated in haste, for she was already crying on the bed. Whereupon, I
gave up the puzzle of love, once and for all; and, as I sought the windy
day, I was established in the determination by a glimpse of the doctor,
sitting vacant as an imbecile in the room where my sister and I had
been: whom I left to his own tragedy, myself being wearied out of
patience by it.

"The maid that turns _me_ mad," was my benighted reflection, as I
climbed the Watchman to take a look at the weather, "will be a wonderful
clever hand."

* * * * *

Unhappily, there had been no indictable offense in Jagger's connection
with the horrid crimes of the _Sink or Swim_ (as the doctor said wit