eed suit and soft felt hat. The face was that of a
keen, earnest man of eight-and-forty, with a full beard, just touched by
life's frost, sharp dark eyes, and altogether a countenance not
handsome, but likely to win confidence.
The newcomer was walking with an easy stride, humming scraps of some
ditty, and he swung by his side an ordinary tin can, holding about a
quart of some steaming compound.
"It's Saint Timothy," whispered Fin, from her perch. "Keep close."
Tiny drew her dress closer together, and pressed to the tree trunk,
looking terribly guilty, while her sister went on watching.
The steps came nearer, and the stepper's eyes were busy with a keen look
for everything, as he seemed to feast on the beauties of Nature around
him.
"`I love the merry, merry sunshine,'" he sang, in a bold, bluff voice;
"and--Hallo, what the dickens have we here?" he cried, stopping short,
and setting two hearts beating quickly. "Lady's basket and ferns dug
up--yes, within the last hour. Why, that must be--Hallo, I spy, hi!"
For as he spoke his eyes had been wandering about, amongst the brakes
and bushes, and he had caught sight of a bit of muslin dress peeping out
from behind a gnarled oak.
The result of his summons was that the scrap of dress was softly drawn
out of sight, and a voice from up in the ties whispered--
"Oh, go down, Tiny, and then he won't see me."
"Hallo! whispers in the wind," cried the newcomer, glancing higher, and
seeing a bit of Fin. "Is it a bird? By Jove, I wish I'd a gun. No:
poachers--trespassers. Here, you fellows, come out!"
Volume 1, Chapter VII.
JENKLES'S CONFESSION.
Sam Jenkles always boasted that he never kept anything from his wife;
but he was silent for two days; and then, after a hard day's work, he
was seated in his snug kitchen, watching the browning of a half-dozen
fine potatoes in a Dutch oven before the fire, when Mrs Jenkles, a
plump, bustling little woman, who was stitching away at a marvellous
rate, her needle clicking at every stroke, suddenly exclaimed--
"Sam, you'd better give me that two pound you've got, and I'll put it
with the rest."
Sam didn't answer, only tapped his pipe on the hob.
Mrs Jenkles glanced at him, and then said--
"Did you hear what I said, Sam?"
"Yes."
"Then why don't you give it me? Draw that oven back an inch."
"Aint got it--only half a sov," said Sam, leaving the potatoes to burn.
Mrs Jenkles dropped her work upon her
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