Miss Pole was very much inclined to instal herself as a heroine, because of the decided steps she had taken in flying from the two men and one woman, whom she entitled “that murderous gang.”  She described their appearance in glowing colours, and I noticed that every time she went over the story some fresh trait of villainy was added to their appearance.  One was tall—­he grew to be gigantic in height before we had done with him; he of course had black hair—­ and by-and-by it hung in elf-locks over his forehead and down his back.  The other was short and broad—­and a hump sprouted out on his shoulder before we heard the last of him; he had red hair—­ which deepened into carroty; and she was almost sure he had a cast in the eye—­a decided squint.  As for the woman, her eyes glared, and she was masculine-looking—­a perfect virago; most probably a man dressed in woman’s clothes; afterwards, we heard of a beard on her chin, and a manly voice and a stride.

If Miss Pole was delighted to recount the events of that afternoon to all inquirers, others were not so proud of their adventures in the robbery line.  Mr Hoggins, the surgeon, had been attacked at his own door by two ruffians, who were concealed in the shadow of the porch, and so effectually silenced him that he was robbed in the interval between ringing his bell and the servant’s answering it.  Miss Pole was sure it would turn out that this robbery had been commited by “her men,” and went the very day she heard the report to have her teeth examined, and to question Mr Hoggins.  She came to us afterwards; so we heard what she had heard, straight and direct from the source, while we were yet in the excitement and flutter of the agitation caused by the first intelligence; for the event had only occurred the night before.

“Well!” said Miss Pole, sitting down with the decision of a person who has made up her mind as to the nature of life and the world (and such people never tread lightly, or seat themselves without a bump), “well, Miss Matty! men will be men.  Every mother’s son of them wishes to be considered Samson and Solomon rolled into one—­ too strong ever to be beaten or discomfited—­too wise ever to be outwitted.  If you will notice, they have always foreseen events, though they never tell one for one’s warning before the events happen.  My father was a man, and I know the sex pretty well.”

She had talked herself out of breath, and we should have been very glad to fill up the necessary pause as chorus, but we did not exactly know what to say, or which man had suggested this diatribe against the sex; so we only joined in generally, with a grave shake of the head, and a soft murmur of “They are very incomprehensible, certainly!”

“Now, only think,” said she.  “There, I have undergone the risk of having one of my remaining teeth drawn (for one is terribly at the mercy of any surgeon-dentist; and I, for one, always speak them fair till I have got my mouth out of their clutches), and, after all, Mr Hoggins is too much of a man to own that he was robbed last night.”