only; and it might be that Mrs. Jones herself entertained some vague wishes, not to say anticipations, when, looking from her door-step on the afternoon with which this tale commences, in search of Miss Mary, for whom their early country tea waited and gave out such an odor of Bohea and fresh cakes from the back-parlor, whom should she behold but that truant, accompanied by Mr. Clarence Van Trump, elegantly flourishing his fishing-rod, now reduced to the size of a stout cane, and wonderfully resembling the paternal gold-headed one. Perhaps he was taking off that swagger of the brigadier-general, the better to illustrate an incident in which they two had had a share on the sands of Newport, at which Miss Mary and himself were now laughing. At all events, the pair of young people were as sociable as if Mr. Clarence had never lived elsewhere than with his great uncle, the patroon, and as Mrs. Jones thought, with pride in her heart, on their coming up.
That estimable lady, after the first glimpse she had obtained of her daughter's escort, had slipped into her chamber, hard by, and donned a new and famously be-bowed cap, the pretty handiwork of Mary herself, before you could say Jack Robinson; and reappeared as if she had not been guilty of that sly manœuvre. She even affected for a moment to overlook the presence of the heir of the patroon.
"Mr. Clarence Van Trump," Miss Mary said, smilingly presenting that young gentleman, who bowed elegantly, as his wont is. Mrs. Jones also dropped a courtsey in the manner of a lady's maid on the boards, which she believed to have a stylish effect, and to show her familiarity with good society. "Columbia is here," Mrs. J. remarks to her Mary, inclining her head in the direction of the parlor, "and Mr. Tom. He has something wrapped in a cloth which he will not let us see. You don't know Mr. Thomas Elkhart, do you, sir?" says Mrs. J. to Clarence.
"I really haven't the pleasure," Mr. Clarence returns, glancing at our heroine, who does not look at him, but colors, a little, perhaps. "Is tea ready?" she asks mamma, and mamma takes the hint.
"I trust you will give us the pleasure of your company at our humble board," the dear soul says, with much urbanity and state;
