hard at his pipe. Through the cover of the smoke he bestowed a
sympathetic wink upon his daughter.

"You needn't go on too fast," said the latter, turning to her mother. "I
haven't made up my mind yet. Charlie's looks are all right, but he ain't
over and above steady, and Ben is steady, but he ain't much to look at."

"What does your 'art say?" inquired the sentimental Mr. Dowson.

Neither lady took the slightest notice.

"Charlie Foss is too larky," said Mrs. Dowson, solemnly; "it's easy come
and easy go with 'im. He's just such another as your father's cousin
Bill--and look what 'appened to him!"

Miss Dowson shrugged her shoulders and subsiding in her chair, went on
with her book, until a loud knock at the door and a cheerful, but
peculiarly shrill, whistle sounded outside.

[Illustration: "Miss Dowson, subsiding in her chair, went on with her
book."]

"There is my lord," exclaimed Mrs. Dowson, waspishly; "anybody might
think the 'ouse belonged to him. And now he's dancing on my clean
doorstep."

"Might be only knocking the mud off afore coming in," said Mr. Dowson, as
he rose to open the door. "I've noticed he's very careful."

"I just came in to tell you a joke," said Mr. Foss, as he followed his