indignant and shocked.  Miss Halbert had mercy on John Carruthers junior, who went wild with delight, and brought out Miss Carmichael.  She, pitying the Captain, gave him the handkerchief and a long chase, but Mr. Thomas finally triumphed, and chose Susan Carruthers as his victim.  Susan took grandpa, who pocketed his pipe, and, after a sounding smack, passed the handkerchief on to his grandchild Marjorie.  She, true to her name, chose the lawyer, and that gentleman, emboldened by the parson’s precedent, dropped the terrible symbol on the shoulder of the girl who was all the world to him.  She pursued him, and he ran as he well could do, but at last he got weak and tired, and she overtook him against her will and his, and Coristine was in the seventh heaven of delight.  They could take him and trample on him, and flaunt his recreancy before Wilkinson even; he didn’t want to kiss any more, even the fresh young lips of the children.  He wanted that one impression to stay forever.

Miss Du Plessis and the dominie were not in a hurry to get back to Bridesdale.  She had received a letter from her mother, saying that Uncle Morton was coming to see her, and that she would try to induce him to accompany her to the country, as she did not wish to shorten her daughter’s brief holiday by calling her home.  Imparting the news to Wilkinson, a long and interesting conversation began which branched off into a variety of topics, treated seriously, at times poetically, by the kindred minds.  Miss Da Plessis was quite unreserved, yet dignified, and without a trace of coquetry; nevertheless, the dominie assured himself that Mr. Perrowne had not a ghost of a chance in that quarter.  She was pleased with the generous way in which he referred to his companion pedestrian, in spite of the provocation which she knew the lawyer had given his friend.  The adventures of the past night, the fresh air of the morning, the rural scenery and his delightful companionship, made the schoolmaster eloquent; yet his sense of propriety and natural politeness kept him from monopolizing the conversation, so that his silent attention was even more flattering than his appeals to the lady’s intelligence and culture.  Outside of the English classics and current literature, her reading lay chiefly among French and Spanish authors, most of which were not unknown to the studious dominie.  A few ripples of well-bred amusement were raised by his recital of his experience at the Beaver River, where he found the Voyage autour de mon Jardin, especially by his specimens of Lajeunesse French and the story of the dug-out.  Of course, he did not offend a lady’s ear with a word so vulgar; it was always the canoe.  Too soon the pleasant morning walk was over, and they stood before the garden gate at Bridesdale, just at the moment when Coristine accidentally stumbled and was captured by the fair possessor of the handkerchief.  “How good of your friend to please the children by taking part in their games,” remarked Miss Du Plessis in all sincerity.  “I cannot express the depth of my humiliation,” replied the dominie; “it is scandalous—­a violation of the rights of hospitality.”