of my own age appeared. With a leap he landed sprawling on the indolent
gentleman's shoulders, nearly upsetting him.

"You young rascal!" exclaimed the gentleman, pitching him on the drive
almost at my feet; then he fell back again to a position where he could
look up at the lady.

"Harry Riddle," cried the boy, "I'll ride steeplechases and beat you some
day."

"Hush, Nick," cried the lady, petulantly, "I'll have no nerves left me."
She turned to the letter again, holding it very near to her eyes, and
made a wry face of impatience. Then she held the sheet out to Mr.
Riddle.

"A pretty piece of news," she said languidly. "Read it, Harry."

The gentleman seized her hand instead. The lady glanced at the
clergyman, whose back was turned, and shook her head.

"How tiresome you are!" she said.

"What's happened?" asked Mr. Riddle, letting go as the parson looked
around.

"Oh, they've had a battle," said the lady, "and Moultrie and his Rebels
have beat off the King's fleet."

"The devil they have!" exclaimed Mr. Riddle, while the parson started
forwards. "Anything more?"