"John," said I, turning in my saddle and waiting for the old farmer, who by my mother's command rode behind me on his clumsy cob, and by my insistence rode far behind, "John, how much would you give to be a girl, eighteen years old, and a — well, never mind about that, we 'll say merely a girl of eighteen?"

"Not a brass varden, Mistress," said John with heavy common sense. "I'd rather be old than young, for then there do be less time to make mistakes in, and I'd not be a lass for all the lands of the Luttrells."

"But a beauty, John! If you could be a beauty, what then?"

"I doant know for sure, Miss. I never seed a beauty save in a Bath picture book."

I blush to remember that at this I raised my whip and struck at poor John lightly but scornfully.

"Then, John," I exclaimed, "you are a plain fool, and there is neither pleasure nor profit to be had from talking with you."

After this I rode on in pettish silence. Those few careless words of the young gallant had forever destroyed the simplicity of childhood within me, so that I never could look at a man without wondering if he thought me handsome, at least not for many years, till I met that paragon of

her sex, Mrs. Elizabeth Montagu, who showed me the error of my ways in a long discourse on "the beauty of virtue, and the danger of beauty."

I have since thought that Mrs. Montagu herself, being plain But to return to my story.

No sooner had we topped the rise than the whole field burst on my astonished sight. It was crowded with prancing horses, that pawed the ground eager to be off, whips in scarlet coats, white breeches, and black top boots, the master of the hounds, riding hither and yon, the huntsman, his horn to his lips, sounding directions to the field, and drawn up in a circle a line of coaches filled with gaily dressed ladies come to watch the start. Ah, this was life!

I had promised my mother to come quietly home as soon as I had witnessed the "meet"; but the sound of the hunting horn stirred something in my blood and set me wild to be off with the rest.

A glimpse of red on an opposite hillside conveyed the information that a warrantable stag had been scented by the tufters, and soon the hallo rang out to mark his breaking from cover. Before its echo had died, it was answered by a gay challenge from the Cloutsham side and away

in a moment dashed the hounds, followed by the whole field, leaving the hilltop bare but for the circle of coaches.

Scarcely knowing what I did, I plied my riding whip over the haunches of my old gray, and he, feeling perhaps a new tide of life sweep through his aged frame, pricked up his ears and dashed along down the hill not so far behind the hunters. But age can never keep the pace with youth for long, and his spirit soon flagged as he saw the field pull steadily away from him till he was left alone. Then a thought came to me. I remembered a path which plunged down the hillside to the valley where the horns were now ringing. True, it was very steep, and full of loose stones, but I thought little of that or indeed of anything save rejoining the hunt. With this purpose completely ruling my mind I turned my horse's head and we went plunging down through branches which barred the path and threatened each moment to throw me off. But I threw myself flat against Dobbin's neck and went slipping, stumbling, all but tumbling, down the treacherous footing of the path, till at last we were at the bottom and Dobbin stopped, trembling and panting for breath, at the margin of the brook.

I straightened myself in the saddle and put back the hair which had fallen across my eyes. As I

did so I was surprised to hear the footsteps of another horse following apparently in the track of Dobbin.

The same slipping, the same stumbles, and now, for the first time, I felt afraid and realized the danger through which I had passed unheeding. Some one evidently had followed my lead, and if harm befell I should have been the cause in my headlong folly.

Scarcely, however, had these thoughts had time to fit through my mind when the second horse landed by the brook.

The rider slackened his rein and, turning hastily in his saddle, looked full at me. I saw with surprise that it was the gentleman whose talk with his companion I had overheard, and I was much vexed that he who had thought me a beauty should see me now, with hair disheveled and my habit torn and mud-spattered. I looked in vain for any traces of dishevelment in his appearance. He was as fresh as when he climbed the hill, and I at once pronounced him the handsomest man I had ever seen, which was not saying much, for my opportunities had been neither wide nor varied. I might, however, have traveled far without encountering so well favoured a person as Sir Miles Farringdon. His clear eyes and ruddy skin suited well with his brawny limbs and burly figure, and

he bore himself with a careless good-nature which could not fail to win all who met him.

For an instant, as his eye caught mine, he looked bewildered. Then he threw back his head and burst into a hearty laugh, in which I joined, though more from shaken nerves than mirth.

"Sir, I do not know why I am laughing," said I, trying to recover my dignity.

"Laughter," exclaimed my new friend jovially, "needs no justification. It is only tears which must have a reason. Besides, is it not some cause for laughter that we are both alive after falling off this hilltop?" Then he added, "I should never have had courage for such a perilous descent, but that, seeing a riding skirt ahead of me, I was ashamed to fear to follow in its wake."

Then we laughed again, with as much mutual good understanding as if we had been friends for years. I am an old woman now, but as I think of that scene my youth comes back to me, and I can still laugh as merrily as then.

66

But where," asked my companion, shading his eyes and looking around, where is the hunt? I would have sworn they were coming up the valley."

"And so they were," I answered. "That is why I chose this short way, but doubtless the