"Naughty little dear, I should say," laughed Flora. "Oh, he is such a kind old friend, and preaches so beautifully, I don't know what we should do without him. We have known him and his dear old lady so long--he was a school-fellow of my dear father. Then there's Captain Lepine--"
"A captain! that sounds more lively. Is he an agreeable individual?"
"Yes; he takes care of my garden, and brings me cuttings of his roses. He's an invalid--"
"Interesting of course."
"And he lost a leg in battle--"
"I hope that he does not stump about on a wooden one; one could hardly stand that, even in a romance. I suppose that he was wounded at Sobraon, or some of those Indian battles with unpronounceable names?"
"No; he was wounded at Navarino."
"Navarino!" exclaimed Ada, with affected horror; "then he must be a century old at the least! Does no one live in this place under eighty years of age?"
"Yes; the doctor and his wife, and half-a-dozen little ones, the eldest not out of the school-room."
"And nobody besides?"