er likes the counthry,
at all; an' I'll jist be afther not goin', ma'm, wid yez!"

Here was a go--or rather a "no go!" Triangle had bought tickets for all,
and ordered the carriage at four; it was now three P. M., of a hot,
roasting day. It would be "on-possible," as Mrs. T. said, to go without
a girl; so poor, sweltering Triangle rushed down to the "Intelligence
Office," where, from the sweating mass of female humanity awaiting a
market for their time and labor, Triangle selected a stout, hearty Irish
_blonde_, warranted perfect, capable, kind, honest, and the Lord only
knows how many virtues the keeper of an "Intelligence Office" will not
swear belong to one of their stock in trade.

Away went Triangle, sweating and swearing; the Irish maiden, swinging a
bundle in one hand and a flaring _bandanna_ in the other, following
after her patron with a duck-waddle; and finally the carriage came; all
got in but Triangle, who started on foot to the depot, carrying his
double-barrelled gun and leading an ugly dog, which he rejoiced in
believing was a full-blooded _setter_, though the best posted
dog-fanciers assured him it was a cross between a tan-yard cur and a
sheep-stealer! But, after a world of motion and commotion--on the part
of Triangle, about the dog, tickets and baggage, and Mrs. Triangle,
about the children, satchels, her new gown, and the sleepy Irish
girl--they found themselves whisked over the rails, and after some three
hours' carriage, they were dumped down in the vicinity of Jingo Hall,
where they found the "private conveyance" of the proprietor of Jingo
Hill Farm waiting to carry them, bandbox and bundle, rag-tag and
bobtail, to Jingo Hall.

The carriage being overfull, Triangle concluded to walk up, stretch his
legs, try his dog and gun, and have a pop at the game. But, alas, for
the villanous dog; no sooner had he got loose and scampered off up the
road, than he sees a flock of sheep some distance across the fields, and
away he pitched. The sheep ran, he after the sheep; and poor Triangle
after his dog.

"Hay! you Ponto--here--hay--Ponto-o-o! Hey, boy, come here, you dog--hi!
hi!--do you hear-r-r?"

But Ponto was off, and after a run of half a mile, he came up with a
lamb, and before Triangle could come to the rescue, Ponto had opened the
campaign by killing sheep! Triangle was so put out about it that in
wrath he up with his gun and was about to terminate the existence of the
dog, but compromised the m