eir Revolution celebration, their
banner, and carousing generally," said Mrs. Jeffrey, rather pleased
than otherwise at being the first to tell the news.

"Young men!" repeated Madam Conway--"what young men? Where did they
come from, and why are they here?"

"They are Douglas and Warner," said Mrs. Jeffrey, "two as big
scapegraces as there are this side of Old Bailey--that's what they
are. They came from Worcester, and if I've any discernment they are
after your girls, and your girls are after them."

"After my girls! After Maggie! It can't be possible!" gasped Mrs.
Conway, thinking of Arthur Carrollton.

"It's the very truth, though," returned Mrs. Jeffrey. "Henry Warner,
who, in my opinion, is the worst of the two, got to chasing Margaret
in the woods, as long ago as last April. She jumped Gritty across the
gorge, and he, like a fool, jumped after, breaking his leg--"

"Pity it hadn't been his neck," interrupted Madam Conway; and Mrs.
Jeffrey continued: "Of course he was brought here, and Margaret took
care of him. After a while his comrade Douglas came out, and of all
the carousals you ever thought of, I reckon they had the worst. 'Twas
the Fourth of July, and if you'll believe it they made a banner, and
Maggie planted it herself on the housetop. They went off next morning;
but now they've come again, and last night the row beat all. I never
got a wink of sleep till after two o'clock."

Here, entirely out of breath, the old lady paused, and, going to her
room, brought out a basin of water and a towel, with which she tried
to wipe off the oil. But Madam Conway paid little heed to the spoiled
carpet, so engrossed was she with what she had heard.

"I am astonished at Margaret's want of discretion," said she, "and I
depended so much upon her, too."

"I always knew you were deceived by her," said Mrs. Jeffrey, still
bending over the oil; "but it wasn't for me to say so, for you are
blinded towards that girl. She's got some of the queerest notions, and
then she's so high-strung. She won't listen to reason. But I did my
country good service once. I went up in the dead of night to take down
the flag, and I don't regret it either, even if it did pitch me to the
bottom of the stairs, and sprained my ankle."

"Served you right," interposed Madam Conway, who, not at all pleased
at hearing Margaret thus censured, now turned the full force of her
wrath upon the poor little governess, blaming her for having suffered
such