“Rubbish!” he answered. A fortnight passed, then a month. ” She said. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. "How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough.
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