"Clemency? Why, where be that niece o' mine?"
"She's run away, Jack. I found her in tears, and I had scarce said a dozen words to her when—hey presto! She's off and away."
"Tears is it, my Lord?—and 'er sighed, too, I reckon. Come now—'er sighed likewise. Eh, my Lord?"
"Why, yes, she may have sighed, but—"
"There," says Jack, rolling his round head knowingly, "it be nought but a touch o' love, my Lord."
"Love!" exclaimed the Viscount sharply.
"Ah, love! Nieces is difficult craft, and very apt to be took all aback by the wind o' love, as you might say—but Lord! it's only natural arter all. Ah! the rearing o' motherless nieces is a ticklish matter, gentlemen—as to nevvys, I can't say, never 'aving 'ad none to rear—but nieces—Lord! I could write a book on 'em, that is, s'posing I could write, which I can't; for, as I've told you many a time, my Lord, and you then but a bye over here on a visit, wi' the Bo'sun, or his Honor the Cap'n, and you no older then than—er—Mr. Milo, though longer in the leg, as I 've told you many a time and oft—a very ob-servant man I be in most things, consequent' I aren't observed this here niece—this Clem o' mine fair weather and foul wi'out larning the kind o' craft nieces be. Consequent', when you tell me she weeps, and likewise sighs, then I make bold to tell you she's got a touch o' love, and you can lay to that, my Lord."
"Love," exclaimed the Viscount again, and frowning this time; "now, who the devil should she be in love with!"
"That, my Lord, I can't say, not having yet observed. But now, by your leave, I'll pass the word for breakfast."
Hereupon the landlord of "The Spotted Cow" opened the lattice, and sent a deep-lunged hail across the yard.