THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
®jft ^torg-Sfller. 
PAULINE.—PART I. 
CHAPTER III. 
“Bite Him, Punch !” m 
The next morning, alas! alas! he 
Kain; soft, patient, persistent, rain, not loud nor 
passionate, yet holding out no false hopes of glv- tl{ 
lng way, set in with the daylight, 
Low over the hillsides hung the misty veil; 
leaden looked the sea: piteous were the faces that 
surveyed It at Gourloch. 
“Elsie, do you ever have anything but rain, 
here?" 
“ Never l 11 poured the whole of yesterday." 
“ Yes, of course, it It ts fine, It is sure to bo on a 
Sunday, when one can’t do anything." 
“ I had a presentiment that it would rain to¬ 
day.” 
“Clever of you, that. I have a presentiment 
that it will rain to-morrow, and the next day, and 
the next after that.” 
Tom was out of humor, and the mischief found 
for Ills Idle hands to do was teasing Ids cousin. 
“ It Is no worse here than elsewhere," afllrmed 
Elsie, smarting like a true Scot under tlietr na¬ 
tional disgrace. “ Wo have had very yood weath¬ 
er, particularly fine weather, until quite lately. 1 
am sure 1 don't know why It should have broken 
just at this time," continued she, with a troubled 
look at the sky. 
“And what Is one to do the livelong day?" 
“You might go and see Mr. Blundell,”said a 
quiet voice close by. Pauline was stundlug with 
her back to them, looking out of the window. 
“ Eh ? M hat should 1 do that for ?’’ demanded 
her brother. 
“ You might And out how long he means to stay, 
and see what is our prospect of a sail.” 
“ Well, I might do that. Perhaps he would take 
me with him to-day. I don’t care for the rain, 
and It would bo better than staying at, home." 
(With a glance at Elsie.) “ Men can’t bo expected 
to fad about a work-table all day like girls." 
“ Bring him back with you tt> entertain us,” re¬ 
torted jus cousin. 
Torn tossed up his head. " Likely, isn’t It ? lie 
hates women.” 
No remark. 
“ He never goes anywhere when he can help It.” 
“Oh!" 
“ And so, as he won’t come to me, 1 must go to 
him,” proceeded LaSartc with a lordly air, In¬ 
tended to convey that it was Impossible two such 
choice spirits could be long apart. “ He will ex¬ 
pect me, 1 daresay." 
“Hollo!” Three minutes later In the avenue. 
“ I was on my way to look you up. What a beast 
of a day!" 
“ Well, what have you got for mo to do ?" 
Was he seeking Tom, as Tom was seeking him, 
from the sheer lack of any other source of enter¬ 
tainment ? 
They regarded each other earnestly. Should 
they fish? The streams were too high. The shoot¬ 
ing of Ciourloch was let to a stranger. Boatlug 
would be miserable; walking, stupid. Must they 
actually be driven indoors ? It appeared the only 
thing to be done. 
“ I hope,” said Blundell, as they walked up to 
the house, “ that Miss La Sarte is none the worse 
for her wetting yesterday." 
“Not a bit. At least,, I never asked her. Isn’t 
it a Jolly old place ? Belongs to toy aunt, as far 
as you can see on either side. She was a Mac- 
dougal; you would know what that means if you 
were a native; and since my uncle’s death, she 
lives here for the most part or every year. The 
pity is about the shooting. Bho might just as well 
keep some ot It tor me, even If she let the rest; It 
Is rather hard on a fellow to 001X16 to Scotland In 
August, and get no grousing. I have given her 
several pretty broad lilntson thesubject. 1 should 
come down regularly If I could look upon It as a 
moor.” 
“I don’t doubt It,” said his companion, dryly. 
“ And, of course, 1 should have It to offer fel¬ 
lows. I can't ask them down, as It Is, when there 
Is no shooting. Fellows who have asked me, you 
know. There was young Beauchamp; andFarey, 
Lord Farey’s son; they would both have come 
down fast enough. If t here had been anything for 
them to do. I had to make up a sort of explana¬ 
tion about my aunt being a widow, and not caring 
to have a lot of people about. 1 could not tell them 
slap out there was no shooting—they would have 
thought It uncommonly odd." 
“ Are you the heir ?” 
“No; another ot us, my cousin, has the title 
and the Berkshire estates. That Is why my aunt 
lives here.” 
“ And does he come In for this property too ?" 
“Oh, no; there’s Elsie—1 mean her daughter. 
A nice girl,” said Tom, carelessly. “ Sir Edward 
was only my mother’s brother, but we do pretty 
much as we like here.” 
“ And that was your sister whom I met yester¬ 
day t Do you know, the whole time she was with 
me she reminded rne or some one, and 1 could not 
puzzle out who it was. Not that she la the least 
like you, Tommy.” 
“Is she not? She la thought like me too.” (I 
suppose he means that she Is handsomer, and 
she’s not. 1 arn quite as good-looking.) 
“ We are rather wot for the drawing-room, eh ?” 
said Blundell, with a glance at his sea-soiled 
boots. “ SVhat do you think ?” 
“ My aunt Is awfully good-n3tured, and”—sink¬ 
ing his voice—“ the carpets are as old as the hills. 
Nobody minds about them. Aunt Ella,” continued 
Tom, opening the door, “ here is Mr. Blundell; 
“ what can we do to amuse him ?” 
“ We will do our best,” replied his aunt, pleas¬ 
antly. She was a slight, graceful little thing, to 
whose opinions her nephew’s exceeding deference 
seemed almost comical. “ I am afraid we have 
nothing here very entertaining, Air. Blundell,” 
affirmed the lady. 
“Perhaps Mr. Blundell will kindly ontertaln 
us," satd a new voice, the other courtesies having 
been exchanged. 
Turning politely towards the speaker, he be¬ 
held a rosy, golden-haired Hebe, in the first (lush 
Elsie was too free, too friendly, with a man 
whom she had never seen before, if this were 
the winning manner of which he had hoard so 
much, he failed to appreciate It. 
1 What In all the world are we to do?” he reit¬ 
erated, dolefully 
No one heeded him. 
“ Pauline, why are you fidgeting with that stu¬ 
pid work ?” 
“ 1 did not know I was fidgeting.” 
" You are; and you have hardly done a stitch 
besides. Why can’t you try to make yourself 
j agreeable ? Why don’t you talk, like Elsie 7" In a 
MADRIGAL. 
Bl' E. C. BTEDMAN. 
Vfnx should 1 constant be ? 
The bird In yonder tree. 
Thin leafy glimmer, 
Hath not hi* last year’s mate. 
Nor dreads to venture fate 
With a new-comer. 
Why should 1 fear to sip 
The sweets of each red Up ? 
In every bower. 
The rovimr bee may tasto 
(Lest nught should run to waste) 
Each fresh-blown flower. 
The trickling rain doth fall 
Upon us one and all; 
The south wind kisses 
The Baucy mllk-mfttd’s cheek. 
The nun’s, demure and meek, 
Nor any misses, 
Then ask no more of me 
That. I Hhould constant be, 
Nor eke desire it; 
Take not such idle pains 
To hold our love in chains, 
Nor coax, nor hire it. 
Bather, like some bright elf, 
Be all things in thyself, 
Forever changing, 
So that thy latest ruood 
May ever bring new food 
To Fancy ranging. 
Forget what thou wast first, 
And, as I loved thee erst 
In soul and feature, 
I'll love thcc out of mind 
When each new morn shall find 
Thee a new creature. 
of her womanhood; a chubby, dimpled, rounded 
creature, whose mocking eyes were fixed upon 
him. 
“ I am dreadfully stupid," said he, with a drawl. 
Pauline, on his other side, Jerked her knitting- 
needle Impatiently. (“ He did not speak In that 
way to me,” thought she. “ What a disagreeable, 
affected, artificial voice! I know 1 should not like 
him.”) 
Lady calverly.—“ You were very kind yesterday 
In bringing my niece out of an unpleasant pre¬ 
dicament. She was a foolish girl to try the cross¬ 
ing ; we may he thankful things were no worse.” 
“ You would have laughed at us," said Blundell 
to Elsie. 
“Iam sure I should,” 
“ it is never safe to try a crossing by the sea,” 
continued Lady Calverley. 
“ l should not have tried It unless the tide had 
been going out,” said Pauline. 
“ l could cross at any time," said Tom. 
Then there was a pause. “ 1 wonder how I could 
put up with him!” thought Pauline. “I must 
have been blind and deaf, or else he is altogether 
changed slncelyesterday.” 
“Are you not a walker?” Inquired Blundell, 
again addressing Miss Calverley. 
“ I don’t care for walking, unless It Is to get 
things. I should not mind It If I might shoot, or 
fish, or follow the otter-hounds; but walking for 
walking’s sake Is like taking medicine—you won¬ 
der how little of It you can get on with, to do you 
any good.” 
Elsie, thankful for any diversion, conscious of 
charms, graceless and Idle, sparkled with anima¬ 
tion. 
“ I declare,” said Tom, “ she Is trying her hand 
on Blundell next.” 
It was not her place. He had told her Ids friend 
was bored with women, and It he had by aoy 
chance come up to see Pauline, he ought to be 
talking to her. His aunt, too, merely putting In 
a word now and then; she should be taking the 
lead—she ought to make their visitor converse 
with her on this, their first meeting. 
low voice. “ It all falls upon her. Neither you 
nor Aunt Ella will say a word.” 
“ 1 can’t talk to a man who turns his back upon 
mo," said Pauline, to herself. She was exagger¬ 
ating—ho had not turned his back upon her; but 
the lady was nettled. 
His back was not turned, but his shoulder ccr- 
tal nly was. ne was lounging over the side of tho 
easy chair, snapping nis fingers at the pug in 
Elsie’s lap. 
Punch was growling, wincing, and quivering 
with Indignation. 
“ Look at him, Punch! Bite him, Punch! 111st! 
Good dog, good dog 1 Don’t, be frightened, you 
little coward! ” cried his mistress, lull of the sport. 
“ Punch, I am ashamed of you to let yourself bo 
tormented by a naughty, horrid— 
“ Go on," said BlundelL 
Elsie, my dear, will you open the dining-room 
door, and see what luncheon Is about ? It Is surely 
one o’clock." 
Elsie jumped up with an instantaneous obe¬ 
dience edifying to see. 
“One o’clock! It surely cannot be as late as 
that!” exclaimed thetr guest. 
• ‘ It has been one o’clock by me for ever so long,” 
said Tom, emphatically. 
“A quarter to one," said Pauline, consulting her 
watch. “ I think your clocks are rather fast, Aunt 
Ella.” 
“Yes, my dear, we keep them half an hour be¬ 
fore the time, as our servants are always late.” 
“And that pulls them up?” said Blundell, 
gravely. 
“They are obliged to go by the clocks, you 
know.” 
“ Which they would not do, if you kept them to 
the correct lime?” 
“ I don’t know, 1 am sure. I wish I knew of 
any way to make them punctual,” said Lady Cal¬ 
verley, herself the most unpunctual woman in ex¬ 
istence. “ 1 never can get them to do as 1 wish in 
that respect. Well, Elsie, are we to come 7” 
“No, Indeed, mamma, there Is no appearance 
of food; hut there Is a rush along the passage 
now that betokens good. There Is a sound of 
abundance of rain. Mr. Blundell-" But Blun¬ 
dell had turned to her couslu. 
“ Ah.” said Tom, cheerfully, “ It will be all tho 
better when it comes, Elsie! Hero Punch, good 
old dog! you like me now, don't you, sir? Take 
my advice and stick to me In tho dining-room, and 
It will advance your best Interests. Tho day is 
clearing, Aunt Ella, after all." 
What had made tho day brighten, the dog good, 
and tho late luncheon excusable, all at once, in 
the young man’s eyes? Pauline sedately convers¬ 
ing with his friend, or Elsie sitting by astonished 
and neglected ? 
“ Elsie, come here; I have something to show 
you.” 
She came hastily. 
“ It is only an old half-penny; but never mind, 
let us be looking at It. I say, when are wo to 
bring m about the sail ?" 
“ we can’t bring It In at all.” 
“Oh yes, we can, you can. You were chatter¬ 
ing away to him Just now easily euough. Think 
of something to nut it into his head." 
“ 1 won't. Ho was quite rude to mo just now.” 
“ Itude to you! HOW?” 
“1 spoke to him, and he turned away, and 
never answered me." 
“ Ho was not thinking of you, that was all.” 
“Then ho ought to have been thinking of me,” 
pouting, and looking angrily at tho halfpenny. 
“ He should not be so taken up with anyone that 
ho cannot attend for a moment to another." 
“Oh, you take no notice, that Is the best way,” 
advised ho, by no means displeased at tho tables 
being Hi us turned. “ Ho and Pauline will got on 
together first-rate, for, between ourselves, they 
are both as mad as March hares. He Is not In 
your Hue, my dear, at all." 
“ He has not a pleasant way of speaking. Some¬ 
times l can’t toll whether he is In Joko or in 
earnest.” 
“ What does It matter which he Is? lie Is an 
old frump, and he Is not halt so good-looking as 
he was either." 
“ He Is quite good-looking enough.” 
“ Oh, 1 dou’t know. I don’t call him so very 
handsome now. And black hair turns grey soon." 
“How old la ho?” 
“ He la a long way over thirty, I know that. 
He was thirty when 1 lelt those parts, or, If he 
wasn’t, he waa precious near It.” 
“Look herol" continued lie, turning her atten¬ 
tion to himself, “ this mark, It shows wonderfully 
little after all. You can hardly see 11 in this 
light, can you ?" 
“ No, no; It 1s not worth thinking about for a 
moment,” Impatiently. “They seem to have 
gone to sleep In the house to-day. No luncheon, 
nor anything." 
“ We are not starving; and wlion wo have eaten 
It there will be nothing else to do. 1 am In no 
hurry," alleged tho lad, defying that eternal 
clock which had anticipated the hour so pertina¬ 
ciously hitherto. 
“ For the first time in your life, thon. I thought 
you were always hungry, and greedy, and every¬ 
thing else that a boy ought, to be." 
“I daresay l was. I was a capital boy In all 
respects,” assented Tom, quietly consigning his 
boyhood to the past. “ And you were not a bad 
little girl either, Miss Elsie. Do you remember 
the turkey’s nest day?” 
No answer. 
“ What are you listening to them for ?” cried he, 
with a frown. 
“ Nothing—nothing. It was only to mamma. 
She— wlnvt was It you were saying ?’’ 
“ Nothing worth attending to. I am only boring 
you. Air. Blundell Is a great deal more ouierlaih- 
- lug, no doubt.” 
u “Torn, you silly boy, don’t be ridiculous. 1 
heard every word you said, till Just at the last. I 
n was thinking of something-” 
r- “ Oh, never mind. It does not In the least slg- 
it nlfy,” tossing up and down the tassel of the blind, 
with a sham yawn, and an air of superb careless- 
r- ness. 
ie Elsie had no more to say; her excases were sus- 
n pected, and apologies would have made matters 
worse. 
ig Now at last they were at one In their desires; 
equally anxious tor Interruption, tho aunounce- 
t! ment of luncheon was welcomed by both. 
>u The day did not clear, according to Tom’s prog- 
t. nojeUcatlons, and tho greater part of It had to be 
ie passed, even by him and his triend, within doors. 
Five o’clock tea, however, was barely over, 
when, all at onoe, the sun shone out. 
m That more rain would fall ere night, and also 
ly through the night, was but too probable; but for 
the present there was a lull, 
e- The pattering el heavy drops might be heard 
upon the laurel hedges from the trees overhead; 
as blackbirds and thrushes did a brisk business 
among such hapless worms as hail crept forth 
upon the grassy paths; and the roaring of hidden 
waterfalls seemed all at once to become distinctly 
er audible. 
nt “Let us go and see the Gour Burn In flood!” 
suddenly suggested Tom. “What do you say 
ie- Elsie?” 
A maklng-up, such as is In fashion among 
ill, quarrelsome children, had been effected between 
them; and now, as usual, ne appealed to her. 
ou “ Shall we, Pauline ?” cried Elsie. 
“Yes,yes, wu wUl! For," subjoined Pauline, 
to with exceeding demure ness, “a whole day In the 
house la tiresome, u no needs f resh air. ” 
of “ My dear Pauline, what are you proposing?’’ 
al- Lady Calverley looked at her niece with astonlsh- 
»x- ment, “Uolng out noto 1 And it will rain again 
in directly!” 
“Now mamma, don’t say anything, please ! It 
ice will be so delightful! And do make dinner a 
,ge little later, so as to give us plenty of time, come, 
