"Ah, General Battle," said the judge to a stout gentleman with a red
face and an expansive shirt front from which the collar had wilted away;
"fine afternoon! Is that Eugenia?" to a little girl of seven or eight
years, with a puppy of the pointer breed in her arms, and "How are you,
Sampson?" to the coloured driver.

The three greeted him simultaneously, whereupon he leaned forward,
resting his hand upon the side of the carriage.

"The young folks are growing up," he said. "I have just seen Juliet
Burwell, and, on my life, she gets prettier every day. We shan't keep
her long."

"Keep her!" replied the general vigorously, wiping his large face with a
large pocket handkerchief. "Keep her! If I were thirty years younger,
you shouldn't keep her a day--not a day, sir."

The little girl looked up gravely from the corner of the seat, tossing
her short, dark plait from her shoulder. "What would you do with her,
papa?" she asked. "We've got no place to put her at home."

The general threw back his great head and laughed till his wide girth
shook like a bag of meal.

"Oh, you needn't worry, Eugie," he said. "I'm not the man I used to be.
She wouldn't look at me. Bless your heart, she wouldn't look at me if I
asked her--"

Eugenia clasped her puppy closer and turned her eyes upon her father's