as much frightened as before. "What do you think I saw in this very
arbor last night?" inquired the boy.

"Mercies, what?" screamed the old lady, alarmed at the mysterious
manner of the corpulent youth.

"A strange gentleman as had his arm around her, a kissin' and huggin'."

"Who, Joe, who? None of the servants, I hope?"

"Worser than that," roared the fat boy in the old lady's ear.

"None of my granddaughters."

"Worser than that," said Joe.

"Worse than that?" said the old lady, who had thought this the extreme
limit. "Who was it, Joe? I insist upon knowing!"

The fat boy looked cautiously about and having finished his survey
shouted in the old lady's ear, "Miss Rachel!"

"What?" said the old lady in a shrill tone, "speak louder!"

"Miss Rachel," roared the fat boy.

"My daughter?" The succession of nods which the fat boy gave by way of
assent could not be doubted. "And she allowed him?" exclaimed the old
lady. A grin stole over the fat boy's features as he said, "I see her a
kissin' of him agin!" Joe's voice of necessity had been so loud that
another party in the garden could not help hearing the entire
conversation. If they could have seen the expression of the old lady's
face at this time it is probable that a sudden burst of laughter would
have betrayed them. Fragments of angry sentences drifted to them through
the leaves, such as "Without my permission!" "At her time of life!"
"Might have waited until I was dead," etc. Then they heard the heels of
the fat boy's foot crunching the gravel as he retired and left the old
lady alone.

Mr. Tupman would probably have found himself in considerable trouble if
one of his friends, who had overheard the conversation had not told Mrs.
Wardle that perhaps Joe had dreamed the entire incident, which did not
seem altogether improbable. She watched Mr. Tupman at supper that
evening, but this gentleman, having been warned, paid no attention
whatever to Miss Rachel, and the old lady was finally persuaded that it
was all a mistake.

Finally the visit of Mr. Pickwick and his friends came to an end, and it
was several months before they again partook of Mr. Wardle's
hospitality. The Pickwickians had arrived at the Inn near Mr. Wardle's
place for dinner before completing the rest of their journey to Dingley
Dell. Mr. Pickwick had brought with him several barrels of oysters and
some special wine as a gift to his host, and he stood examining his
packages to see that they