"She don't seem ter want me ter find her," sighed Phil.

"Fooh!" jeered the father. "There's only two kinds of
maids, as ye'd know if ye'd been out in the world as I have
--those that want a husband and those that don't. But six
months married, and ye can't pick the one from t' other, try
your best. There's nothing brings a lass to the round-about
so quick as having to do what she does n't want. They are
born contrary and skittish, and they can't help shying at
fences and gates, but give 'em the spur and the whip, and
over they go, as happy as a lark. And I say so, Janice will
marry ye, and mark my word, come a month she'll be complaining
that ye don't fondle her enough."

Mr. Meredith's pictorial powers, far more than his philosophy,
were too much for Philemon to resist. He held out his
hand, saying, "'T is a bargain, squire, an' I'll set to on a
canvass to-day."

"Well said," responded the elder, heartily. "And that 's
not all, Phil, that ye shall get from it. I've a tidy lot of
money loaned to merchants in New York, and I'll get it from
'em, and we'll buy the mortgages on your father's lands.
Who'll have the whip hand then, eh? Oh! we'll smoke the
old fox before we've done with him. His brush shall be well
singed."

The compact thus concluded to their common satisfaction,
the twain separated, and the squire rode the remaining six
miles in that agreeable state of enjoyment which comes from