So Aunt Becky’s levee went on; and as Homer, in our school-boy ear, sang the mournful truth, that ’as are the generations of the forest leaves so are the succession of men,’ the Dangerfield efflorescence had no sooner disappeared, and that dry leaf whisked away down the stairs, than Cluffe and Puddock budded forth and bloomed in his place, in the sunshine of Aunt Rebecca’s splendid presence.

Cluffe, in virtue of his rank and pretensions, marched in the van, and, as Aunt Becky received him, little Puddock’s round eyes swept the room in search, perhaps, of some absent object.

‘The general’s not here,’ said Aunt Becky loftily and severely, interpreting Puddock’s wandering glance in that way.  ’Your visit, perhaps, is for him—­you’ll find him in his study, with the orderly.’

‘My visit, Madam,’ said Puddock, with a slight blush, ’was intended for you, Madam—­not for the general, whom I had the honour of seeing this morning on parade.’

‘Oh! for me?  I thank you,’ said Aunt Rebecca, with a rather dry acknowledgment.  And so she turned and chatted with Cluffe, who, not being at liberty to talk upon his usual theme—­his poor, unhappy friend, Puddock, and his disgraces—­was eloquent upon the monkey, and sweet upon the lap-dogs, and laughed till he grew purple at the humours of the parrot, and swore, as gentlemen then swore, ’twas a conjuror, a wonder, and as good as a play.  While this entertaining conversation was going on, there came a horrid screech and a long succession of yelps from the court-yard.

‘Good gracious mercy,’ cried Aunt Rebecca, sailing rapidly to the window, ’’tis Flora’s voice.  Sweet creature, have they killed you—­my angel; what is it?—­where are you, sweetheart?—­where can she be?  Oh, dear—­oh, dear!’—­and she looked this way and that in her distraction.

But the squeak subsided, and Flora was not to be seen; and Aunt Becky’s presence of mind returned, and she said—­

’Captain Cluffe, ’tis a great liberty; but you’re humane—­and, besides, I know that you would readily do me a kindness.’  That emphasis was shot at poor Puddock.  ’And may I pray you to try on the steps if you can see the dear animal, anywhere—­you know Flora?’

‘Know her?—­oh dear, yes,’ cried Cluffe with alacrity, who, however, did not, but relied on her answering to her name, which he bawled lustily from the door-steps and about the court-yard, with many terms of endearment, intended for Aunt Becky’s ear, in the drawing-room.

Little Puddock, who was hurt at that lady’s continued severity, was desirous of speaking; for he liked Aunt Becky, and his heart swelled within him at her injustice; but though he hemmed once or twice, somehow the exordium was not ready, and his feelings could not find a tongue.

Aunt Becky looked steadfastly from the window for a while, and then sailed majestically toward the door, which the little ensign, with an humble and somewhat frightened countenance, hastened to open.