ruffling
knave who wore Lincoln green, and was not particular how he came by it.

"Ah! but that is all you know, dear sir!" said Hildegarde. "We all have
our limitations, and if you had only known Robin, you would see how
right I am."

And then Hildegarde fell a-dreaming, and imagined a tea-party that she
might give, to which should come William of Orange and Robin Hood, Alan
Breck Stuart and Jim Hawkins.

"And who else? let me see! Hugh, of course, and Jack, if he were here,
and the boys and--and Captain Roger; only I am afraid he would think it
nonsense. But Bell would love it, and I would invite Dundee, just to
show her how wrong she is about him. And--oh, none of the King Arthur
knights, because they had no sense of humour, and Alan would be at their
throats in five minutes; but--why, I have left out David Balfour
himself,--Roger would love David, anyhow,--and Robin might bring Little
John and Will Scarlet and Allan-a-Dale. We would have tea out on the
veranda, of course, and Auntie would make one of her wonderful chicken
pies, and I would ask Robin whether it was not just as good as a
venison pasty. Alan would have his hand at his sword, ready to leap up
if it was denied; but jolly Robin would make me a courtly bow, and say
with his own merry smile--Come in! oh! what is it?"

Rudely awakened from her pleasant dream by a knock at the door,
Hildegarde looked up, half expecting to see one of her heroes standing
cap in hand before her. Instead, there stood, ducking and sidling,--the
Widow Lankton.

"How do you do, Mrs. Lankton?" said Hildegarde, with an effort. It was a
sudden change, indeed, from Robin Hood and Alan Breck, to this forlorn
little body, with her dingy black dress and crumpled bonnet; but
Hildegarde tried to "look pleasant," and waited patiently for the
outpouring that she knew she must expect.

"_Good_-mornin', dear!" said the widow, ducking a little further to one
side, so that she looked like an apologetic crab in mourning for his
claws. "I hope your health is good, Miss Grahame. There! you look
pretty well, I must say!"

"I hope you are not sorry, Mrs. Lankton," smiling; for the tone was that
of heartfelt sorrow.

"No, dear! why, no, certainly not! I'm pleased enough to have you look
young and bloomin' while you can. Looks ain't allers what we'd oughter
go by, but we must take 'em and be thankful for so much, as I allers
say. Yes, dear. Your blessed mother's lyin' down, Mis' Auntie told me