“Under that hedge, eating apples.  They tell me they sailed for the North Pole this morning, but fell in with a pirate close under the land, so ’bout ship and came ashore again.”

“A pirate, Mr. Dodd?  Oh, I see, a beggar—­a tramp.”

“A deal worse than that, Miss Lucy.  Now, youngster, why don’t you spin your own yarn?”

“Yes, tell me, Reggy.”

“Well, dear, when I had written to mamma, and Johnny had folded it—­because I can write but I can’t fold it, and he can fold it but he can’t write it—­we went to the North Pole, and we got a mile; and then we saw that nasty Newfoundland dog sitting in the road waiting to torment us.  It is Farmer Johnson’s, and it plays with us, and knocks us down, and licks us, and frightens us, and we hate it; so we came home.”

“Ha! ha! good, prudent children.  Oh, dear, you have had no dinner.”

“Oh, yes we had, Lucy, such a nice one:  we bought such a lot of apples of a woman.  I never had a dinner all apples before; they always spoil them with mutton and things, and that nasty, nasty rice”

“Hear to that!” shouted David Dodd.  “They have been dining upon varjese” (verjuice), “and them growing children.  I shall take them into the kitchen, and put some cold beef into their little holds this minute, poor little lambs.”

“Oh yes, do; and I will run and tell the good news.”  She ran across the lawn, and came into the hall red with innocent happiness and agitation.  “They are found, aunt, they are found; don’t cry.  Mr. Dodd found them close by, They have had no dinner, so that good, kind Mr. Dodd is taking them into the kitchen.  I will send Master Christmas home with a servant.  Shall I bring you Reggy to kiss?”

“No, no; wicked little wretch, to frighten his poor mother!  Whip him, somebody, and put him to bed.”

In the evening, soon after the ladies had left the dining-room, the pianoforte was heard playing quadrilles in the drawing-room.  David fidgeted on his seat a little, and presently rose and went for his violin, and joined Lucy in the drawing-room alone.  Mrs. B. was trying on a dress.  Between the tunes Lucy chatted with him as freely and kindly as ever.  David was in heaven.  When the gentlemen came up from the dining-room, his joy was interrupted, but not for long.  The two musicians played with so much spirit, and the fiddle, in particular, was so hearty, that Mrs. Bazalgette proposed a little quiet dance on the carpet:  and this drew the other men away from the piano, and left David and Lucy to themselves.

She stole a look more than once at his bright eyes and rich ruddy color, and asked herself, “Is that really the same face we found looking wan and haggard on the sea?  I think I have put an end to that, at all events.”  The consciousness of this sort of power is secretly agreeable to all men and all women, whether they mean to abuse it or no.  She smiled demurely at her mastery over this great heart, and said to herself, “One would think I was a witch.”  Later in the evening she eyed him again, and thought to herself, “If my company and a few friendly words can make him so happy, it does seem very hard I should select him to shun for the few days he has to pass in England now; but then, if I let him think—­I don’t know what to do with him.  Poor Mr. Dodd.”