CHAPTERPAGE
I.—UNCLE CORNY[1]
II.—MY KITTY[3]
III.—THE TIMBER-BRIDGE[7]
IV.—PEACHES, AND PEACHING[12]
V.—A LITTLE TIFF[18]
VI.—THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE[22]
VII.—DE GUSTIBUS[29]
VIII.—BAD COUNSEL[37]
IX.—A DOG VIOLATE[42]
X.—AN UPWARD STROKE[50]
XI.—THE FINE ARTS[55]
XII.—AN EMPTY PILE[61]
XIII.—MY UNCLE BEGINS[67]
XIV.—AND ENDS WITH A MORAL[74]
XV.—MORAL SUPPORT[82]
XVI.—TRUE LOVE[89]
XVII.—TRUE FATHER[96]
XVIII.—FALSE MOTHER[102]
XIX.—DOE DEM. ROE[109]
XX.—AUNT PARSLOW[115]
XXI.—A TULIP BLOOM[122]
XXII.—COLDPEPPER HALL[128]
XXIII.—AT BAY, AND IN THE BAY[135]
XXIV.—HARO![141]
XXV.—ON THE SHELF[149]
XXVI.—A DOWNY COVE[155]
XXVII.—OFF THE SHELF[162]
XXVIII.—OUT OF ALL REASON[168]
XXIX.—A FINE TIP[175]
XXX.—BASKETS[183]
XXXI.—THE GIANT OF THE HEATH[189]
XXXII.—A DREAM[199]
XXXIII.—URGENT MEASURES[206]
XXXIV.—TWO TO ONE[214]
XXXV.—UNDER THE GARDEN WALL[219]
XXXVI.—FROST IN MAY[226]
XXXVII.—COLD COMFORT[233]
XXXVIII.—NONE[241]
XXXIX.—ON TWO CHAIRS[248]
XL.—JOB’S COMFORT[256]
XLI.—TRUE COMFORT[262]
XLII.—BEHIND THE FIDDLE[268]
XLIII.—THE GREAT LADY[275]
XLIV.—MET AGAIN[282]
XLV.—ROGUES FALL OUT[288]
XLVI.—TONY TONKS[296]
XLVII.—TOADSTOOLS[303]
XLVIII.—THE DUCHESS[310]
XLIX.—CRAFTY, AND SIMPLE[317]
L.—A POCKETFUL OF MONEY[325]
LI.—NOT IN A HURRY[332]
LII.—A WANDERING GLEAM[338]
LIII.—A BAD NIGHT[343]
LIV.—PRINCE’S MANSION[350]
LV.—RELIEF OF MIND[356]
LVI.—ANOTHER TRACE[359]
LVII.—A VAIN APPEAL[366]
LVIII.—UNCLE CORNY’S LOVE-TALE[373]
LXIX.—A COOL REQUEST[380]
LX.—ALIVE IN DEATH[387]
LXI.—ZINKA[396]
LXII.—HASTE TO THE WEDDING[402]
LXIII.—THERE SAT KITTY[408]
LXIV.—A MENSÂ ET TORO[414]
LXV.—HER OWN WAY[420]
LXVI.—ONE GOOD WISH[427]

KIT AND KITTY.

CHAPTER I.
UNCLE CORNY.

My name is Christopher Orchardson, of Sunbury in Middlesex; and I have passed through a bitter trouble, which I will try to describe somehow, both for my wife’s sake and my own, as well as to set us straight again in the opinion of our neighbours, which I have always valued highly, though sometimes unable to show it. It has not been in my power always to do the thing that was wisest, and whenever this is brought up against me, I can make no answer, only to beg those who love blame to look at themselves, which will make their eyes grow kinder, before they begin to be turned on me.

For five and twenty years of life I went on very happily, being of an unambitious sort, and knowing neither plague nor pain, through the strength of my constitution and the easiness of my nature. Most of my neighbours seemed to live in perpetual lack of something, and if ever they got it they soon contrived to find something more to hanker for. There were times when I felt that I must be a fool, or to say the least a dullard, for slackness of perception, which kept me satisfied with the life I had to live. But two things may be pleaded well in my excuse on this account; in the first place, all my time was spent among creatures of no ambition—trees, and flowers, and horses, and the like, that have no worry; and what was even to the purpose more, I had no money to enlarge its love.

For my Uncle Cornelius—better known to all who had dealings with him as “Corny, the topper”—took care of me, and his main care was to make me useful, as an orphan should be. My father had been his elder brother, and had married rashly a lady of birth and education far above his own, but gifted with little else to help her, unless it were sweetness of disposition, and warmth of heart, and loveliness. These in a world like ours are not of much account for wearing; and she had no chance to wear them out, being taken away quite suddenly. My life was given at the cost of hers, and my father, after lingering for a few months, took his departure to look for her.