“As I live,” cried John, “there go our new neighbors the Jarvis’s; yes, yes, that must be the old merchant muffled up in the corner; I mistook him at first for a pile of bandboxes; then the rosy-cheeked lady, with so many feathers, must be the old lady—­heaven forgive me, Mrs. Jarvis I mean—­aye, and the two others the belles.”

“You are in a hurry to pronounce them belles, John,” said Jane, pettishly; “it would be well to see more of them before you speak so decidedly.”

“Oh!” replied John, “I have seen enough of them, and”—­he was interrupted by the whirling of a tilbury and tandem followed by a couple of servants on horseback.  All about this vehicle and its masters bore the stamp of decided fashion; and our party had followed it with their eyes for a short distance, when, having reached a fork in the roads, it stopped, and evidently waited the coming up of the pedestrians, as if to make an inquiry.  A single glance of the eye was sufficient to apprise the gentleman on the cushion (who held the reins) of the kind of people he had to deal with, and stepping from his carriage, he met them with a graceful bow, and after handsomely apologizing for the trouble he was giving, he desired to know which road led to the Deanery.  “The right,” replied John, returning his salutation.

“Ask them, Colonel,” cried the charioteer, “whether the old gentleman went right or not.”

The Colonel, in the manner of a perfect gentleman, but with a look of compassion for his companion’s want of tact, made the desired inquiry; which being satisfactorily answered, he again bowed and was retiring, as one of several pointers who followed the cavalcade sprang upon Jane, and soiled her walking dress with his dirty feet.

“Come hither, Dido,” cried the Colonel, hastening to beat the dog back from the young lady; and again he apologized in the same collected and handsome manner, then turning to one of the servants, he said, “call in the dog, sir,” and rejoined his companion.  The air of this gentleman was peculiarly pleasant; it would not have been difficult to pronounce him a soldier had he not been addressed as such by his younger and certainly less polished companion.  The Colonel was apparently about thirty, and of extremely handsome face and figure, while his driving friend appeared several years younger, and of altogether different materials.

“I wonder,” said Jane, as they turned a corner which hid them from view, “who they are?”

“Who they are?” cried the brother, “why the Jarvis’s to be sure; didn’t you hear them ask the road to the Deanery?

“Oh! the one that drove, he may be a Jarvis, but not the gentleman who spoke to us—­surely not, John; besides, he was called Colonel, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” said John, with one of his quizzing expressions, “Colonel Jarvis, that must be the alderman; they are commonly colonels of city volunteers:  yes, that must have been the old gem’mun who spoke to us, and I was right after all about the bandboxes.”