'But I kin tell you, squire, that my lad Nim is 'tarnal
'cute too, an' he'll be worth lookin' arter as a husband, he will.'

Still with an unsuspicious effort at cordiality, Mr. Wynn answered, 'I
suppose so.'

'He might get gals in plenty, but he has a genteel taste, has Nim: the
gal to please Nim must be thorough genteel. Now, what would you say,
squire'--an unaccountable faint-heartedness seized Uncle Zack at this
juncture, and he coughed a hesitation.

'Well, sir!' For the old gentleman began to suspect towards what he was
drifting, but rejected the suspicion as too wild and improbable.

'Wal, the fact is, squire, Nim will have the two farms, an' the store,
an' the bank shares--of course not all that till I die, but Daisy Burn
at once: an'--an'--he's in a 'tarnal everlastin' state about your
daughter Linda, the purtiest gal in the township, I guess.'

Mr. Wynn rose from his seat, his usually pale countenance deeply
flushed. What! his moss-rose Linda--as often in a fond moment he named
her--his pretty Linda, thought of in connection with this vulgar,
cheating storekeeper's vulgar son? 'Sir, how dare you?' were all the
words his lips framed, when Robert, beholding the scene from the other
end of the board, came to the rescue.

'The fellow has been drinking,' was the most charitable construction Mr.
Wynn could put upon Zack's astounding proposition. His dignity was
cruelly outraged. 'Baiting the trap with his hateful knavish gains!'
cried Linda's father. 'This is the result of the democracy of bush-life;
the indiscriminate association with all classes of people that's forced
on one. Any low fellow that pleases may ask your daughter in marriage!'

Robert walked up and down with him outside the building. Though
sufficiently indignant himself, he tried to calm his father. 'Don't make
the affair more public by immediate withdrawal,' he advised. 'Stay an
hour or so longer at the bee, for appearance' sake. It's hardly likely
the fellow will attempt to address you again, at least on that subject.'
So the old gentleman very impatiently watched the log heaps piling, and
the teams straining, and the 'grog-bos' going his rounds, for a while
longer.

We left Andy Callaghan over his victim, with a flourishing shillelagh.
Having spun him round, he stirred him up again with a few sharp taps;
and it must be confessed that Nim showed very little fight for a man of
his magnitude, but sneaked over the fence after a minute's brava