Miss Frances laughed. "Mr. Arnold, I think you are too bad. How can she
help it, with those dreadful Chinamen? But I would really advise you not to
eat that cake; it doesn't look wholesome."

"Oh, as to that, I've never observed any difference; one thing is about
as wholesome as another. Did you ever eat bacon fried by China Sam? The
sandwiches were made of that. You see I still live." The sponge cake was
rapidly disappearing. "Miss Newell, you look at me as if I were making away
with myself, instead of the cake,--will you appear at the inquest?"

"No, I will not testify to anything so unromantic; besides, it might be
inconvenient for Mrs. Bondy's cook." She put on her hat, and stepped along
the stones towards the entrance to the glen.

"You are not going to refuse me the last offices?"

"I am going to look for Nicky Dyer. He came with me to show me the spring,
and now he has gone to hunt for his cow."

"And you are going to hunt for him? I hope you won't try it, Miss Frances:
a boy on the track of a cow is a very uncertain object in life. Let me call
him, if you really must have him."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. I suppose he will come after a while. I said I
would wait for him here."

"Then permit me to say that I think you had better do as you promised."

Miss Frances recrossed the stones, and seated herself, with a faint