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"No-o!" he said, as if nobody but a gaping idiot would expect anybody not a gaping idiot to notice a leather-curtained spring-wagon. "No-o! did you notice the brown horse that man was riding who just now passed you as you turned off the road?"

"Yes, so called. He wa'n't a lieutenant then, he was a clerk, like you or me."

"Richard Thorndyke Smith! My dear boy," she cried, while the nieces gasped at each other with gestures and looks all the way between Terpsichore and Melpomene, and then the four cried in chorus, "We know your mother!"

The trio laughed, the young woman most musically.

"Yes," I replied, "in that direction."

"Why, who and what should I be?"

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