A post-chaise seen in the road first alarmed us. “They’d better not,” said Hetty. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. In vain he fondly urged his suit, And, all in vain, the question put; She answered,—"Mr. '—'Oh! yes we are,' says he. Don’t try. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. ‘You’re only making things worse, you little idiot.
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