“Aye, I am General Roger Potter, recently ruler over this kingdom,” returned the general, in a trembling voice, for he was still more bewildered.

“And yet,” rejoined he with the damsel, “it cannot be our general, for he is dressed in the garb of a clown; and may the devil get me if I think he would dress in that style, though it were to get him safe out of the country.”  Having said this, he was seen to leave the girl sitting upon the trunk of a tree, and to advance a few paces towards the figure in the strange dress.  He then paused, and after a searching glance, quickened his pace, and then at the very top of his speed, ran into the other’s arms, crying, “general! general! my good master, let our meeting here be set down for a miracle, for I have much need to ask your forgiveness.”

“Faith of my father!” exclaimed the general, releasing his hold of the mule and embracing the stranger, “Tickler, my faithful secretary! is it you?

“Me, and nobody else!” rejoined the stranger, who was no less a person than the lost secretary.  History affords no record of a greeting between a great general and his secretary half so enthusiastic as that which took place on this occasion.  Both were nearly affected to tears; and so anxious were they to relate what had befallen them since they parted, that it seemed as if they could not wait another minute.  In short, when one began to speak the other would interrupt, impatient lest he forget something of particular interest.  Like sensible gentlemen, feeling that they were too much overcome by the meeting, they agreed to postpone the account of their exploits, and proceed at once to the house of Angelio’s parents; for that was the name of the damsel who accompanied Tickler through the grove.  “It is but half a league from this,” said Tickler, “and as they are poor, but honest people, you will be welcome under their roof, and get such refreshment as I see you stand much in need of.”  Seeing this friendly meeting between her lover and the stranger, Angelio tripped lightly to where they stood, and with a smile of childlike innocence lighting up her sweet face, held out her hand in token of her friendship.  And when the general had acknowledged this with his usual courtesy, she blushed, and shook her head, and placed her right hand to her heart, which was her mute but forcible reply, for not a word of the tongue in which he spoke could she understand.

“And now, general,” spoke the critic, “let me lead the mule, and do you accompany Angelio, for I remember your gallantry.”  Just as this was bringing to life all that vanity for which the general has distinguished himself throughout this history, Mr. Tickler continued:  “But pray, how comes it that your excellency is dressed in this strange garb?” Suddenly discovering the condition he was in, he picked up the gown, had it about him in a trice, and was for offering no end of apologies, which Tickler put an end to by assuring him, that although Angelio’s blushes were all the results of innocence, she was by no means prudish.  And now, having got himself safely rolled up in the priest’s gown, the general gallantly proceeded with Angelio to her father’s house, followed by the critic, leading the mule.  And for what took place when they arrived at that humble abode, the reader is referred to the next chapter.