loitered shyly by the farmer's arm-chair to steal a look at the handsome
new-comer. She was introduced to Richard as the farmer's niece, Lucy
Desborough, the daughter of a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and, what was
better, though the farmer did not pronounce it so loudly, a real good
girl.

Neither the excellence of her character, nor her rank in life, tempted
Richard to inspect the little lady. He made an awkward bow, and sat
down.

The farmer's eyes twinkled. "Her father," he continued, "fought and fell
for his coontry. A man as fights for's coontry's a right to hould up his
head--ay! with any in the land. Desb'roughs o' Dorset! d'ye know that
family, Master Feverel?"

Richard did not know them, and, by his air, did not desire to become
acquainted with any offshoot of that family.

"She can make puddens and pies," the farmer went on, regardless of his
auditor's gloom. "She's a lady, as good as the best of 'em. I don't
care about their being Catholics--the Desb'roughs o' Dorset are
gentlemen. And she's good for the pianer, too! She strums to me of
evenin's. I'm for the old tunes: she's for the new. Gal-like! While
she's with me she shall be taught things use'l. She can parley-voo a
good 'un and foot it, as it goes; been in France a couple of year. I
prefer the singin' of 't to the talkin' of 't. Come, Luce! toon up--eh?
--Ye wun't? That song abort the Viffendeer--a female"--Farmer Blaize
volunteered the translation of the title--"who wears the--you guess what!
and marches along with the French sojers: a pretty brazen bit o' goods, I
sh'd fancy."