"there is a time for everything, and my time for sporting is past."

"You have no right to complain, sir," said Mr. Carleton, with a meaning
glance and smile which the old gentleman took in excellent good part.

"Well," said he, looking half proudly, half tenderly, upon the little
demure figure at his side, "I don't say that I have. I hope I thank God
for his mercies, and am happy. But in this world, Mr. Carleton, there is
hardly a blessing but what draws a care after it. Well--well--these things
will all be arranged for us!"

It was plain, however, even to a stranger, that there was some subject
of care not vague nor undefined pressing upon Mr. Ringgan's mind as he
said this.

"Have you heard from my mother lately, Fleda?" said her cousin.

"Why yes," said Mr. Ringgan,--"she had a letter from her only to-day. You
ha'n't read it yet, have you, Fleda?"

"No grandpa," said the little girl; "you know I've been busy."

"Ay," said the old gentleman; "why couldn't you let Cynthia bake the
cakes, and not roast yourself over the stove till you're as red as a
turkey-cock?"

"This morning I was like a chicken," said Fleda laughing, "and now like a
turkey-cock."

"Shall I tell mamma, Fleda," said young Rossitur, "that you put off