partridge," he said.

"She's just Vinie Mocket," answered the boy. "There's a girl who stays
sometimes at Mrs. Selden's, on the Three-Notched Road. She's not
freckled, and her eyes are big, and she never goes barefoot. I reckon
it's silk she wears."

"What's her name?" asked the hunter, filling his pipe.

"Jacqueline--Jacqueline Churchill. She lives at Fontenoy."

"Fontenoy's a mighty fine place," remarked Gaudylock.

"And the Churchills are mighty fine people.--Here's the partridge back,
with another freckle-face."

"That's Tom Mocket," said Lewis. "If Vinie's a partridge, Tom's a
weasel."

The weasel, sandy-haired and freckled, came up the path with long steps.
"Hi, Lewis! Father's gone toward the market looking for your father.
That's a brig from the Indies down there, and the captain's our
cousin--ain't he, Vinie? I know who you are, sir. You're Adam Gaudylock,
the great hunter!"

"So I am, so I am!" quoth Adam. "Look here, little partridge, at what
I've got in my pouch!"

The partridge busied herself with the beaded thing, and the two boys
talked aside. "I've till dinner time to do what I like in," said Lewis