"Talk about the lowland," said Ralph, with patriotic scorn; "I tell you, my heart's delight, that there is nothing, anywhere below, to compare with this."

"Not at Richmond?--but permit me first to ask if your observation was addressed to me, sir?" said Miss f.a.n.n.y, stopping.

"Certainly it was, my own,"

"I am not your own."

"Aren't you?"

"No, and I never will be!"

"Wait till you are asked!" replied Ralph, laughing triumphantly at this retort.

"Hum!" exclaimed f.a.n.n.y.

"But you asked about Richmond, did you not, my beauty?"

"Ridiculous!" cried f.a.n.n.y, laughing; "well, yes, I did."

"A pretty sort of a place," Ralph replied; "but not comparable to Winchester."

"Indeed--I thought differently."

"That's not to the purpose--you are no judge of cities."

"Hum! I suppose you are."

"Of course!"

"A judge of everything?"

"Nearly--among other things, I judge that if you continue to look at me, and don't mind where you are walking, Miss f.a.n.n.y, your handsome feet will carry you into that stream!"

There was much good sense in these words; and f.a.n.n.y immediately took the advice which had been proffered--that is to say, she turned her eye away from the bantering lips of her companion, and measured the stream which they were approaching.

It was one of those little mountain-brooks which roll their limpid waters over silver sands; hurl by through whispering ledges, the resort of snipe and woodc.o.c.k; or, varying this quiet and serene existence with occasional action, dart between abrupt banks over mossy rocks, laughing as they fly onward to the open sunlight.

The spot which the party had reached, united these characteristics mentioned.

A path led to a mossy log, stretched from bank to bank, some feet above the water--a log which had answered the purpose of a bridge for a long time, it seemed; for both ends were buried in the sward and the flowers which decorated it.

Below this, the limpid stream wound over bright sands and pebbles, which glittered in the ripples like diamonds.

"Now!" cried Ralph, "here is a pretty pa.s.s! How are these delightful young ladies to get over, Verty?"

"I don't know--I suppose they will walk," observed Verty, simply.

"Walk!"

"Yes."

"What! when that very dog there had to balance himself in traversing the log?"

"Who, Longears?"

"Yes, Longears."

"He's not used to logs," said Verty, smiling, and shaking his head; "he generally jumps the streams, like Cloud."

"Oh! you need'nt be afraid," here interrupted Redbud, smiling, and pa.s.sing before f.a.n.n.y quickly; "we can get over easily enough."

The explanation of which movement was, that Miss Redbud saw the lurking mischief in Mr. Ralph's eyes, and wished at least to protect herself.

"Easy enough!" cried Ralph, moving forward quickly.

"Yes; look!"

And with the a.s.sistance of Verty, who held one of her hands, Redbud essayed to pa.s.s the bridge.

The moss rendered it slippery, and near the middle she almost fell into the stream; with Verty's aid, however, the pa.s.sage was safely effected.

"There!" said Redbud, smiling, "you see I was right, Mr. Ashley--was I not?"

"You always are!"

"And me, sir?" said f.a.n.n.y, approaching the bridge with perfect carelessness.

"You are nearly always wrong, my life's darling," observed Mr. Ralph.

"You are too bad, Ralph! I'll get angry!"

"At what?"

"At your impertinence!"

"I was not impertinent."

"You were."

"I was right."

"You were not."

"And the proof is, that you are going to do something wrong now," said Ralph, laughing.

"What, sir?"

"I mean, you _think_ you are going to?"