"Ah--h--h--wants to shee wheels--"

Madly I snatched my watch from my pocket, opened the case, and
exposed the works to view. The other carriage was meeting ours,
and I dropped my head to avoid meeting the glance of the unknown
occupants, for my few moments of contact with my dreadful nephews
had made me feel inexpressibly unneat. Suddenly the carriage with
the ladies stopped. I heard my own name spoken, and raising my
head quickly (encountering Budge's bullet head EN ROUTE to the
serious disarrangement of my hat), I looked into the other
carriage. There, erect, fresh, neat, composed, bright-eyed, fair-
faced, smiling and observant,--she would have been all this, even
if the angel of the resurrection had just sounded his dreadful
trump,--sat Miss Alice Mayton, a lady who, for about a year, I had
been adoring from afar.

"When did YOU arrive, Mr. Burton?" she asked, "and how long have
you been officiating as child's companion? You're certainly a
happy-looking trio--so unconventional. I hate to see children all
dressed up and stiff as little manikins, when they go out to ride.
And you look as if you had been having SUCH a good time with
them."

"I--I assure you, Miss Mayton," said I, "that my experience has
been the exact reverse of a pleasant one. If King Herod were yet
alive I'd volunteer as an executioner, and engage to deliver two
interesting corpses at a moment's notice."

"You dreadful wretch!" exclaimed the lady. "Mother, let me make
you acquainted with Mr. Burton,--Helen Lawrence's brother. How is