THE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
241 
to say Dan would pass by a pretty girl without looking 
at her, not he; but if she minced in her walk, and 
seemed to know he was looking at her. he would stare in 
his haughty, scornful way, as much as to say, “ You 
needn’t put yourself out; I was only thinking you’ve 
got decent eyes, or a decent figure, and it’s a'pity the 
rest of you’s not as good ; ” so that really a girl was as 
much put out as flattered by one of his looks; and he 
was so cool and proud with the handsome ladies he rode 
with, that he got quite a saying in Pickersgill, “No 
more in love than Dan o’ the water.” 
And now I’m going to tell you about Dan and Mercy's 
first meeting. 
I suppose he had noticed her before. I should think 
he had noticed her as the prettiest girl in Pickersgill, 
and as the only girl in Pickersgill who didn’t gape 
after him (present company, Mistress Sicklemore, ex¬ 
cepted. of course.) 
Well, it was one muggy November night. Mercy and 
little Tommy and I were coming up the High Street 
together. I was trying to comfort the poor lass a bit, for 
times just then were going hard with Jerry; indeed, just 
then was the coming on of hard times for more than him. 
We had got to the end of the street, when Dan came 
flashing round the corner on Richardson's black horse. 
"Holloa, Matthew!” he shouts, in his grand, com¬ 
manding way. stopping close to the pavement, “ give 
me a light, quick; come, man. I’ve got a seven-mile 
ride, — look sharp ! ” 
“ Quicker said than done, Dan Harroway, in tliis 
wind,” says I, taking out my tinder-box. 
Dan held his match down while I struck ; but the 
wind blew it out directly it was lighted; so I, stupid¬ 
like, asked Mercy to come and hold up her shawl to 
make shade against the wind. She did come close to 
the horse, and held up her shawl while Dan bent down, 
holding the reins and the pipe in one hand, and the 
match in the other ready to catch the light. It lit and 
went out half a dozen times, and while I was scraping 
and scraping away, I knew well enough that Dan was 
looking at Mercy; she knew it too, and you would have 
thought such a girl would have kept her eyes to her¬ 
self ; but, whether she got angry or what, Mercy raised 
hers to Dan’s face as it bent down close to her. 
Now, I don’t know much about love nonsense myself, 
still I could but feel, when Mercy raised her eyes and 
found Dan’s face within a few inches of hers, looking 
at her as I’d never seen him look at any other woman 
in his life, his fiery eyes all soft, and seeming to have 
found somewhere to rest on at last, and Iris proud-set 
lips in a smile,—when I saw this, I say, and saw, too, 
how he seemed to have the power of holding those 
soiTowful blue eyes of Mercy’s to bis as by a charm, I 
said to myself, ‘ * There, you’ve done something for Jerry, 
calling her to hold up her shawl, you have ; you thought 
if you couldn’t strike one match, you’d strike another. 
I’m mistaken if 4 this isn’t the beginning of trouble.” 
And so it turned out to be. 
Dan may have courted her with his eyes all that 
winter, for what I know ; but I saw nothing more myself, 
till one fine morning early in the year. He was riding 
slowlyjup the road.from Paisley woods, with a bimeh 
of wild blue hyacinths lying on his home before him, 
close to the path where Mercy was coining along. I was 
on the other side; I don’t think either of them saw me. 
Presently Dan stopped his horse, and stooped and 
held the flowers out to her, smiling. Mercy stopped 
and looked at them. No doubt it seemed pleasant to 
the poor child, who never had time to pick a flower for 
herself, and who got many a slap from Nance for run¬ 
ning to pick up the clover-blooms that fell out of the 
wagons passing the top of the court ;»no doubt it seemed 
very pleasant and tempting to have a bunch of sweet¬ 
smelling bluebells held out to her like that by Emperor 
Dan. She looked and looked for nearly a minute, and 
then shook her head, as much as to say, “I mustn’t,” 
like a child, and began to walk on quicker. 
Dan’s face darkened, and he turned his horse right 
across her path, and held the flowers down to her again, 
while his black eyes seemed half begging, half command¬ 
ing, her to take them. Then she held out her little 
hand and took them, still like a child frightened into 
doing wrong. 
Dan pricked his horse, and went galloping up the road. 
I never smell hyacinths but I see that old road again, 
with the light green hedges and the primroses under 
them ; and Dan turning in his saddle as he galloped 
away, resting one hand on the home’s back ; and his 
dark face, with the sun on it, smiling bright and proud, 
like a sultan that had been balked many times, but got 
his own way at last,—smiling at Mercy while the yel¬ 
lowy-green hedges spun by; and Mercy herself standing 
just where he had left her, shading her eyes with the 
flowers, looking after him’ ready to cry at what she had 
done, and yet sick at heart that his home should bear 
him so fast out of her sight. 
“ Trouble coming, Jerry,” I said to myself as I saw 
her.—“trouble coming.” 
That same morning I had to call on old Harroway. 
Dan’s father, who was my landlord, you know, and who 
owned half the wretched houses at Gadshill-in-the-Fields, 
Dan was in the office, coming out as I went in. I 
wasn’t surprised to see him there, for matters had long 
been patched up between them; but I was surprised to 
hear him say,— 
“ What docs it matter to you where the money comes 
from, so long as you get it?” 
“ I don’t know about that,” shid old Harroway, lock¬ 
ing up his tin box. “Jerry’s money is honest money 
when it does come.” 
“ What is mine, then?” Dan said, coming back with 
a scowl on his face. 
“ There, there, let it drop,” said the old man, pet¬ 
tishly. “You’ve had your own way, and that’s enough; 
I don’t know what you’re after, but if you choose to pay 
me the rent, of course I slia’n’t worry him for it.” 
“But, mind, the debt goes on just the same,” said 
Dan ; “and I take my money back when I like, giving 
you a week to get it from him.” 
And Dan went out, just nodding to me; and old Har¬ 
roway, not seeing me yet, looked out of the grimy window 
after him, and screwed up his yellow face, and shook 
his bald head, as much as to say, “ Do you think I don’t 
Imow what you’re after, my boy?” 
I can tell you I wished no little that I knew; for 
though I could make neither head nor tail of what I 
heard, and wouldn’t for the world have made Jerry 
uncomfortable about it, and so stopped any good Dan 
in his love for Mercy might be going to do hun, still I 
found myself every time! passed their place croaking 
like an old raven,— 
“ There’s trouble coming, Jerry,—trouble coming! ” 
(to he continued.) 
