in the wind, "Mind, skipper, or you will run down Old Betty." I was
astonished at the insinuation against my noble captain that he was
likely to behave rude to a lady, but my suspicions were soon removed,
when I saw Old Betty was a buoy, floating on the waters, adorned with
a furze bush. Old Betty danced merrily on the rippling wave with her
furze bush by way of a feather, with shreds of dried sea weed hanging
to it forming ribbons to complete the head dress of the lady buoy.
The nearer we approached, the more rapid did Betty dance, and when
we passed close alongside of her, she curtsied up and down as if to
welcome our visit. Dick narrated why a buoy placed at the head of a
mud bank obtained the name of a _lady fair_, and I briefly noted it
down.

Many years ago a single lady resided at Poole, of plain manners,
unaffected simplicity, affable, yet retiring, and--

"Passing rich with forty pounds a-year."

The gentry courted her, but she still adhered to her secluded habits.
Year after year rolled on, and though some may have admired her,
she was never led to the altar, and consequently her condition was
_unaltered_. Kind and friendly neighbours kept a vigilant eye upon her
proceedings, but her character was unimpeachable; and they all agreed
that she was a very suspicious person, because they could not slander
her. She lived a blameless single lady.

Her attentions were directed to an orphan boy. He was her constant
companion, and the object of her tenderest solicitude. As he grew up
he excelled the youth of his own age in manly exercises; could thrash
all of his own size, when insulted, but never played the tyrant, or