“Yes, I be,” replied the lady who had been dry nursed from town;—“are you, Ma’am, number ten, Grove Place?”
“This is Mr. Dornton’s,” said the dignified woman in the hood advancing her lantern,—“and—mercy on us! you’re in master’s lap!”
A shout of laughter from five of the inside passengers corroborated the assertion, and like a literal cat out of the bag, the ci-devant lady, forgetting her umbrella and her pattens, bolted out of the coach, and with feline celerity rushed up the garden, and down the area, of number ten.
“Renounce the woman!” said Dr. Dornton, as he scuttled out of the stage—“Why the devil didn’t she tell me she was the new cook?”
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
A DAY’S SPORT ON THE MOORS.