ngland, and your name is
English, and the property that ought to belong to you. I hope you don't
consider yourself a Frenchman because your mother is a great French
lady, after so many generations of Carnes, all English, every bit of
them. I am an English girl, and I care very little for things that I
don't see--such as justice, liberty, rights of people, and all that. But
I do care about my relations, and our friends, and the people that live
here, and the boats, and all the trees, and the land that belongs to
my father. Very likely you would want to take that away, and give it to
some miserable Frenchman."

"Dolly, my dear, you must not be excited," Carne answered, in the manner
of a father; "powerful as your comprehension is, for the moment these
things are beyond it. Your meaning is excellent, very good, very great;
but to bring it to bear requires further information. We will sit by
the side of the sea to-morrow, darling, if you grant me a view of your
loveliness again; and there you will see things in a larger light than
upon this narrow bench, with your father's trees around us, and your
father's cows enquiring whether I am good to eat. Get away, cow! Do you
take me for a calf?"

One of the cows best loved by Dolly, who was very fond of good animals,
had come up to ask who this man was that had been sitting here so long
with her. She was gifted with a white face and large soft eyes--even
beyond the common measure of a cow--short little horns, that she would
scarcely think of pushing even at a dog (unless he made mouths at her
infant), a flat broad nose ever genial to be rubbed, and a delicate
fringe of finely pointed yellow hairs around her pleasant nostrils and
above her clovery lips. With single-hearted charity and enviable faith
she was able to combine the hope that Dolly had obtained a lover as good
as could be found upon a single pair of legs. Carne was attired with
some bravery, of the French manner rather than the English, and he
wanted no butter on his velvet and fine lace. So he swung round his cane
of heavy snakewood at the cow, and struck her poor horns so sharply that
her head went round.

"Is that universal peace, and gentleness, and justice?" cried Dolly,
springing up and hastening to console her cow. "Is this the way the
lofty French redress the wrongs of England? What had poor Dewlips done,
I should like to know? Kiss me, my pretty, and tell me how you would
like the French army to land, as a m