the dominie,
grandly.

It was very unjustifiable of Mr. Perrowne, but two things annoyed him;
one being the fact that he was equally guilty with the lawyer, the
other that Miss Du Plessis had deserted him for this prig of a
schoolmaster. Loud enough to be heard by all, he remarked:--

"A very learned and distinguished man was once playing with some
children, when he suddenly cried, 'Children, we must stop, for I see a
fool coming.' What do you think of that, Captain!"

"Never said a truer word in your life," growled Mr. Thomas, and
continued, "anything as calls itself a man and can't romp with the
youngsters, nor give a joke and take it, had ought to be set in a high
chair with a bib, let alone petticuts."

"He said pinnies, papa," Marjorie corrected.

"Pinnies or petticuts, it's all the same thing. Me and Terry here, old
enough to be his fathers!"

"An' it 'ud be a grate 'anner for me, anyway, to be father to a foine,
praper, illigant gintleman loike Mishter Wilkerson," put in the veteran,
anxious to keep the peace. The embers, however, were smoking on both
sides when little Marjorie ran up to the dominie and, taking his hand,
said beseechingly: "Please don't scold the poor boys and girls, Wilks,
because it was my fault--all my fault. I made them play. Now, put down
your head and kiss me, and say, 'I forgive you this once, but don't you
go to do it again'; just like papa says."

There was no help for it, though everybody laughed to hear the terror of
the Sacheverell Street school called Wilks, and the grown-up people,
girls and boys. The dominie had to repeat the formula and seal it with a
kiss, when the perfidious child turned upon him very gravely, saying:
"Now, sir, you can't speak, for you've done it your very own self." Thus
it was that a storm was averted, and "drop the handkerchief" broke up in
good nature.

"Corry," said his friend, "I'm going upstairs for my knapsack. You had
better get yours, and prepare to follow our route. Colonel Morton and
Miss Du Plessis are coming here, so that we, as entire strangers, ought
no longer to intrude upon the hospitality of Mrs. Carruthers."

"All right, Wilks, my boy!" replied the tender-hearted lawyer, who felt
as if his heart was breaking. In a few minutes the pedestrians descended
ready for the road, when the Squire opened his office door and threw up
his arms in amazement.

"What in aa conscience is the meanin' o' this?"

Wilkinson explained, and expresse