ng it over, and was full of
encouragement. He said:

"Miss Rouse, something tells me that, if poor Mr. Wylie could only know
your heart, he would turn up again directly. What we ought to do is to
send somebody to look for him in all the sailors' haunts--some sharp
fellow-- Dear me, what a knocking they keep up next door!"

"Oh, that is always the way when one wants a quiet chat. Drat the woman!
I'll have her indicted."

"No, you won't, Miss Rouse. She is a poor soul, and has got no business
except letting lodgings; she is not like you. But I do hope she will be
so kind as not to come quite through the wall."

"Dear heart!" said Nancy, "go on, and never mind her noise, which it is
worse than a horgan-grinder."

"Well, then, if you can't find him that way, I say--Advertise."

"Me!" cried Nancy, turning very red. "Do I look like a woman as would
advertise for a man?"

"No, ma'am. Quite the reverse. But what I mean is, you might put in
something not too plain. For instance: If J. W. will return to N. R., all
will be forgotten and forgiven."

"He'd have the upper hand of me for life," said Nancy. "No, no; I won't
advertise for the fool. What right had he to run off at the first word?
He ought to know my bark is worse than my bite by this time. You can,
though."

"Me bite, ma'am?" said the old gentleman.

"Bite? no. Advertise, since you're so fond of it. Come, you sit down and
write one; and I'll pay for it, for that matter."

Michael sat down, and drew up the following: "If Mr. Joseph Wylie will
call on Michael Penfold, at No. 3 E. C., he will hear of something to his
advantage."

"To his advantage?" said Nancy, doubtfully. "Why not tell him the truth?"

"Why, that is the truth, ma'am. Isn't it to his advantage to be
reconciled to an honest, virtuous, painstaking lady, that honors him with
her affection--and me with her friendship? Besides, it is the common
form; and there is nothing like sticking to form."

"Mr. Penfold," said Nancy, "any one can see you was born a gentleman; and
I am a deal prouder to have you and your washing than I should him as
pays you your wages. Pale eyes--pale hair--pale eyebrows--I wouldn't
trust him to mangle a duster."

"Oh, Miss Rouse! Pray don't disparage my good master to me."

"I can't help it, sir. Thought is free, especially in this here
compartment. Better speak one's mind than die o' the sulks. So shut your
ear when my music jars. But one every other day is enough. If