"_Ant_. He misses not much.
_Seb_. No, he doth but mistake the truth totally."
TEMPEST.


It was the very next morning that several ladies and gentlemen
were gathered on the piazza of the hotel at Montepoole, to
brace minds or appetites with the sweet mountain air while
waiting for breakfast. As they stood there, a young countryman
came by bearing on his hip a large basket of fruit and
vegetables.

"Oh, look at those lovely strawberries!" exclaimed Constance
Evelyn, running down the steps. "Stop, if you please — where
are you going with these?"

"Marm!" responded the somewhat startled carrier.

"What are you going to do with them?"

"I aint going to do nothin' with 'em."

"Whose are they? Are they for sale?"

"Well, 'twon't deu no harm, as I know," said the young man,
making a virtue of necessity, for the fingers of Constance
were already hovering over the dainty little leaf-strewn
baskets, and her eyes complacently searching for the most
promising; "I ha'n't got nothin' to deu with 'ern."