isappointed," said Tony, as he surveyed
the mass of luggage which the guard seemed never to finish depositing
before his friend.

"Two portmanteaus, sir," said the guard, "three carpetbags, a
dressing-case, a hat-box, a gun-case, bundle of sticks and umbrellas,
and I think this parrot and cage are yours."

"A parrot, Skeflfy!"

"For Mrs. Maxwell, you dog: she loves parrots, and I gave ten guineas
for that beggar, because they assured me he could positively keep up a
conversation; and the only thing he _can_ say is, 'Don't you wish you
may get it?'"

No sooner had the bird heard the words than he screamed them out with a
wild and scornful cry that made them sound like a bitter mockery.

"There,--that's at me," whispered Skeflfy,--"at _me_ and _my_ chance of
Tilney. I 'm half inclined to wring his neck when I hear it."

"Are you looking for any one, Harris?" asked Tony of a servant in livery
who had just ridden into the yard.

"Yes, sir; I have a letter from my mistress for a gentleman that was to
have come by the mail."

"Here he is," said Tony, as he glanced at the address. "This is Mr.
Skefflngton Darner."

While Skeffy broke the seal, Tony muttered in his ear, "Mind, old
fellow, you are to come to us before you go to Tilney, no matter how
pressing she may be."

"Here's a business," said Skeffy; "as well as I can make out her old
pothooks, it is that she can't receive me. 'My dear,'--she first wrote
'Nephew,' but it's smudged out,--'My dear Cousin Darner, I am
much distressed to tell you that you must not come here. It is the
scarlatina, which the doctors all think highly infectious, though we
burn cinnamon and that other thing through all the rooms. My advice
would be to go to Harrogate, or some nice place, to amuse yourself,
and I enclose this piece of thin paper.' Where is it, though?" said
he, opening the letter and shaking it "Just think of the old woman
forgetting to put up the enclosure!"

"Try the envelope!" cried Tony, eagerly; but, no, the envelope was also
empty, and it was plain enough she had omitted it.

Skeffy read on: "'I had a very pretty pony for you here; and I remember
Lydia Darner told me how nice you looked riding, with the long curls
down your back.' Why, that was five-and-twenty years ago!" cried he,
with a scream of laughter,--"just fancy, Tony!" and he ran his fingers
through his hair. "How am I ever to keep up the illusion with this crop!
'But,'"--he went on to read,--"'but I