Direct payment for well-doing is not the thing, the goodness therefrom looks like stage grief, but simulated for reward.  But, tell me, who is there that could well decline anything, not exactly highly culpable, whereby to try and win one of the most radiant maidens that has ever yet graced creation! As a matter of course, with such an object in view, all my bent now was to make as many good records as I could, and to keep the leaden tokens down to the lowest possible ebb.  And, truely, it was almost increditable, the way in which I did suceed.

 Why, what can be thought of it?  In less than seven weeks’ time, I positively was in the possession of eleven hundred gleaming pieces of gold; the which, when nobody was about, I stowed carefully away in a stout calico bag, under a loose board in a dark corner of our scullery. I likewise put away the pieces of lead in another place of security, and proud was I to note that the total number of the latter was but trifling.

 All this while, I had never, but on one occasion, clapped my eyes upon my unrivalled Marimemonia, and that was on one day as she rode close by our house, accompanied by a great lumbering hulk of a chap, carrying a face upon him as rubicund and round as a prize mangel.  This casual glance though, at Psyche, turned out rather a bad job for me, as upon the following morning, very much to my dismay I found that I had a good few extra leaden pieces, all through my quite inadvertently wishing some sort of evil would speedily overtake this detestable escort of hers.

 After this occurrence, how intensely was my yearning for another interview with my all-absorbing nymph.  I hardly dare venture to correspond or seek for communication through the medium of a go-between, through fear of punishment following for audacity; and thereby running the risk of at once spoiling the whole game.  It could only be by opportunity, I plainly saw, that my craving desire stood any chance of getting gratified; and, under whatever auspices it was, I was not kept very long awaiting for the fulfilment of my wish.

One day, as evening was coming on, a retriever dog, limping badly, was making its way for the South Road. I noted at every few paces, the poor brute had to stop a second or so, to allay its torturing pain.  Not altogether, I confess, without a little misgiving for my safety, I ventured in a chary way towards it, patted it on the shoulder, timidly raised the affected limb, examined the foot, and thereon discovered a nasty looking gash.

 A woman in the neighbourhood, while standing looking around her at her porch, had likewise taken notice of the crippled animal, and humanely brought some hot water, a sponge and soap.  I immediately set to and cleaned the wound and soothed the effected part.

There was a flash brass collar around the neck of my patient, and on glancing at the inscription, oh, how deeply interested I suddenly became. For thereon I read, “G. Breenge, Walliwalli Villa, Junction Road.”

I had barely completed my work of mercy, when, down the way a bit, a covered sulky came spanking round the corner.   At this object, like a shot—lame foot and all—the dog bounded forward.   Then a voice, like the sweetest melody that ever was heard, called—

“Gordon, you naughty dog, Gordon.  Where have you been?”

 The sulky drew up near to where I was standing, and—O day! how can my ecstasy be adequately described?

 The Jehu thereof was none other than Miss Marimemonia Breenge, all by herself.

 In making my salute, I am under the impression that I did so by raising both hands at once to raise my hat, and began my address by saying, “Your dog, Miss Breenge, has had a nasty cut on one of its forefeet.”

 “Oh, has it?”  she unconcernedly replied.  “It must have lost me, and got itself hurt while I was in attending the Bazaar.”

Then, most intently fixing upon me her matchless luminous eyes, she added, “Lah! now I know you—you’re Master Frost, who kindly looked after my horse one night at the upper entrance to the Recreation Ground.”

 Ye gods, how crushed I felt!

At this precious instant, I should have gladly welcomed being pitched-forked to Jupiter, or any other distant planet.

In the first place, blundering so aggravatingly with my name, together with accosting me as if I had merely been some needy-nobody of a lackey.

Then in a petulant and sheepish sort of style, I fear, I answered, “That my name was Fro and not Frost.”

This enlightenment which I made, most apparently must have touched her understanding a bit, inasmuch as straightway, somehow or another, her manner changed from the nonchalant to the affable, interested, and tender.

With a frank ring in her voice, she at length exclaimed, “Oh, Mr. Fro!  I really do beg pardon. But now, mind do, that we are both of us quits, for the difference, you’ll see, is not anything like as great between Frost and Fro, as it is between Grim and Breenge.”

 It boots not to say how much this smart, well-merited hit, uplifted me and made me again quite reconciled, infatuated, and more enraptured with my vis-a-vis than ever I had been before.

After a little more parleying, she asked, with mild solicitude, if I should mind jumping up and taking charge of the reins, as there was an awkward bit of road a little way further on that she always had a dread of passing.   Did I mind?—what a doubt !

 I did mind this behest that she made.  Why, I minded it with phrensical delight, there never could, I think, have been an injunction with so much alacrity acceded to.

I expressed my pleasure to oblige, took my seat by her side, with the broad back of Gordon for a foot-mat, discarded the whip, and allowed the old horse to trudge along at any sleepy pace it had a mind to.

 While thus, elbow to elbow, in the outset, did not I open her eyes considerably, by duly apprising her that I was not by any means the sort of young fellow that most probably she might take me for. Then gradually I enlarged on the incalculable intensity of my overwhelming passion, to all of which she demurely and passively listened.  But O—cruel !  She evinced no indication—no, not the slightest—of her being in the least smit with a similar passion.  Continuing then for a painful duration, in moody abstraction, after a while, she broke the ice by beginning to regard me with a sad, downcast, and pensive look, and in a tremulous voice, said—

“Do you know that my papa is going to put me up, in a way that may justly be regarded, as it were, for auction, on my next birthday—mid-summer day next?—when I’ll be eighteen years of age.  Oh, how utterly horrible.  It quite upsets me to think of it.  I am to be knocked down to the highest bidder, and that will be—mind I’ve no doubt of it at all—” Here, visibly, tears started to flow, and audible sobs were heard.  “And euh! I very much fear that the highest bidder will be the very lowest, lowest in my esteem of all, and that is Noxey Fob— plague him.”

Under ordinary circumstances, at this most distracting revelation, how I should have vehemently denounced such a proceeding with wrathful words.  “But once bit is twice shy.”   The dread of an extra supply of the leaden pieces deterred me, so in the best way in which I could, I swallowed my rising indignation, and past it off quietly by merely saying—

“Bah! Noxey Fob’s not everybody.”   “Pooh,” I continued, “for as far as that goes, I may give a greater bid for you than he myself.”

“No; could you now?”  betraying with the one breath, disbelief and curiosity.

“But, oh my! you’ve no idea about Noxey Fob, for even supposing you should happen to get the better of him, you see he’s such an immense giant— he is; besides, too, so dreadfully vindictive, that I verily believe he would never rest satisfied until he had crushed you under his feet as flat as he would do a toadstool.”

Most heroically I replied to this intimidating harangue— “Never mind all that. I’ll stand all the racket—mind, providing that you would for ever afterwards stand by me—that is, supposing that everyone else on the eventful day I should out-bid.”

 And she said she would!