72 THE SMUGGLER. 



that poor foolish girl; for what have you to do with the coun- 

 try ? You, who have lived the best part of your life in cities, 

 and amongst their denizens. I dare say, if the truth were 

 told now, you would give a guinea to be walking up the Mall, 

 instead of sitting down here in this old, crumbling, crazy 

 house, speaking courteous nonsense to a pretty little milk- 

 maid." 



" Indeed, my dear sir, you are very much mistaken," re- 

 plied Sir Edward, gravely. " You judge all men by yourself; 

 and because you are fond of cities, and the busy haunts of men, 

 you think I must be so too." 



" I fond of cities and the busy haunts of men!" cried Mr. 

 Croyland, in a tone of high indignation ; but a laugh that ran 

 round the table, and in which even the worthy clergyman 

 joined, showed the old gentleman that he had been taken in 

 by Sir Edward's quietly-spoken jest; and at the same time his 

 brother exclaimed, still laughing, "He hit you fairly there, 

 Zachary. He has found out the full extent of your love for 

 your fellow-creatures already." 



"Well, I forgive him, I forgive him!'' said Mr. Croyland, 

 with more good humour than might have been expected. " I 

 had forgotten that I had told him, four or five days ago, my 

 hatred for all cities, and especially for that great mound of 

 greedy emmets, which, unfortunately, is the capital of this 

 country. I declare I never go into that vast den of iniquity, 

 and mingle with the stream of wretched-looking things that 

 call themselves human, which all its doors are hourly vomiting 

 forth, but they put me in mind of the white ants in India, 

 just the same squalid-looking, active, and voracious vermin as 

 themselves, running over everything that obstructs them, in- 

 truding themselves everywhere, destroying everything that 

 comes in their way, and acting as an incessant torment to 

 every one within reach. Certainly, the white ants are the 

 less venomous of the two races, and somewhat prettier to look 

 at; but still there's a wonderful resemblance.'' 



" I don't at all approve of your calling me a milkmaid, 

 uncle," said Zara, shaking her small delicate finger at Mr. 

 Croyland, across the table. " It's very wrong and ungrateful 

 of you. See if ever I milk your cow for you again ! '' 



" Then I'll milk it myself, my dear," replied Mr. Croyland, 

 with a good-humoured smile at his fair niece. 



