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MANTJE! MANTJE!

WHEN Leonard had made his request about the Loughborough standing there had been a struggle in Mr. Dobson's mind, between his good-nature, which had prompted him to grant, and his dislike to the applicant's mother, which prompted him to refuse it; and though the former had been victorious, he had put the matter down in his mental reckoning against Mrs. Dallocourt, and had waited and watched for her next petition with the firm intention of saying "no" when it came. The petition had come, but it had been so provokingly simple, so aggravatingly commonplace and easy of performance, that the Squire for very shame had been unable to fulfil his resolution. The Scylla of self-reproach for churlishness to a lady in distress had made itself unpleasantly visible on one hand, while the Charybdis of departing from his cherished intention menancingly upon the other, causing him to feel as though an unfair advantage had been taken of him in a pitched encounter of wits. He had said "Yes;" but he had said it with an unmistakable sulkiness of manner which had not escaped Leonard's observation. It had formed the subject of young Dallocourt's meditations during his homeward walk; and upon these sprung an apparently irrelevent question which he put immediately upon his arrival at the cottage.

"Mother!" cried he, as he entered the room where his mother sat expecting him; "do you remember the story of the Enchanted Flounder?"

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"Do you remember the story of Sandford and Merton?" asked Mrs. Dallocourt, impatiently. I beg that the privilege of asking all questions of that description may be left to those exceeding tiresome little boys. How did you get on at Hufferton?''

"My flounder is beginning to splash," returned Leonard, "and the colour of the water is muddy."

"I care nothing for your flounder," cried Mrs. Dallocourt; and she would have said more, but Leonard sat down to the piano, and began to play and to sing

"Mantje! Mantje ! fimpe fe!

Butje! Butje! in der see!"

So began the singular song that he selected; and when he had proceeded so far with it, he stopped suddenly short, to ask his mother whether she recognised the words. Mrs. Dallocourt did

recognise them, for the story had been familiar to her from her youth up; but she was in no mood to talk of fish or fishermen, and when Leonard proceeded to explain, when he told her of the ill-concealed displeasure with which Mr. Dobson had listened to her proposal, when he compared himself to the angler, and the Squire to the enchanted prince, and exhorted her, with a half-joking foreshadowing of evil, not to play out Ilsebill's role to the end, he found her afflicted with the hopeless stupidity of one resolved not to understand.

"Putting together," cried she, "the few grains of information to be extracted from your exceedingly ridiculous and rambling talk, I arrive at the conclusion that Mr. Dobson was cross this afternoon, which, as I have reason to believe, is an occurrence by no means extraordinary; that he is not going to the dance, and that Mrs. Dobson is not going either; that they intend to hob and nob over their fire instead, and that their carriage-containing Matilda Dobson, her aunt, and cousins-is to call here for me in about an hour's time. Is it not so?"

Leonard nodded assent, and said a few words to corroborate the nod; but his whole soul was in the Dutch legend, and while his mother put her fancy work into its accustomed receptacle, and stowed away her scissors and her thimble, he continued his persevering attempts to convert her to an appreciation of his comparison. He might just as well have endeavoured to make converts of that lion and unicorn, which by this time were reposing unmolested upon their sea-green grounding.

"If that is the way you are going to talk to the young ladies, this evening," said Mrs. Dallocourt, standing door-knob in hand by the open door to deliver this parting address, "I pity the poor creatures heartily. They must have cleverer heads than mine to form even the ghost of a conception of what you mean." And then she fled up the staircase, and took refuge in the sanctuary of her bedroom.

A minute afterwards, Leonard, as he passed its entrance, tapped smartly thereupon with his knuckles, and shouted out the epilogue of his discourse.

"Mantje Mantje! was a very fine song; but he sang it too often, and so shall I."

There was no answer. Mrs. Dallocourt, sublimely indifferent to whatever might be said upon that subject, proceeded to make an elaborate toilet; and Leonard's thoughts wandered from the changes in the fisherman's residence to the changes that were necessary in his own apparel.

The brothers Melburn, punctual to their appointment, drove up to the cottage ornée almost before they were expected. Their

horse was slow and old; the roads heavy, by reason of ecent snowfalls; and the brothers, carefully taking these things into consideration, had allowed themselves ample time for the performance of their even miles' drive. The sound of their dog-cart wheels

had long died away in the distance when the Hufferton carriage, with its rapid prancing steeds, stopped at Mrs. Dallocourt's door. Yet such was the difference in the rate at which they travelled that she reached her destination before her son, having passed the Melburn equipage in the avenue leading to the house.

"A near thing," observed Leonard, as he greeted her in the brilliantly-lighted hall. "If Dick Melburn hadn't insisted on stopping the horse while he made an observation about one of the 'ologies, we should have been here before."

And then they entered the ball-room, and he danced a quadrille with Miss Dobson.

Mrs. Dallocourt, in high spirits and recovered good temper, mingled with the festive throng, and noted with pardonable pride the evident popularity of her son. More than once during the course of the evening he danced with Matilda Dobson, and more than once, when the dance was over, Mrs. Dallocourt adroitly contrived to be in that young lady's vicinity.

"You are fond of dancing?" she observed, as Matilda took a seat by her side, after the laboured execution of a waltz.

Matilda, fanning herself in the most approved fashion, sententiously answered, "Oh, yes." Her manner would have given to a total stranger an idea that it was purposely repellant; but Mrs. Dallocourt, having met her before, and knowing her well by reputation, harboured no such erroneous notion. "A prettier waltz than the one they have just played would hardly be heard anywhere," she remarked with placid perseverance. And Matilda Dobson, her eyes demurely cast upon the ground, uttered a responsive "Oh, no."

As every rhinoceros, though encased in its armour of proof, is held, nevertheless, to have a vulnerable spot, so in Mrs. Dallocourt's opinion there existed no person so impassive, so immovable, so hopelessly taciturn, but that some subject might be found, by dint of patience and assiduity, upon which he or she would become loquacious, and the resolute bringing forward of which would be an "open sesame" to the flood-gates of eloquence. Firm in this belief, she strove long and industriously to find the magic word that could unloosen Miss Dobson's tongue; and although her efforts were frequently interrupted by gentlemen who requested, in polite accents, the pleasure of dancing with that young lady, and by Matilda's consequent removal from her side, she invariably found opportunities of renewing them as soon as circumstances permitted.

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And circumstances in this respect were peculiarly favourable. The good folks in the neighbourhood of the cottage orné, although undoubtedly far removed from the hum and bustle of the busy world, were not so simple and unsophisticated but that they had their double capacities as well as other people, and quite understood the use of them. Miss Dobson had a double capacity. She was the only daughter of a wealthy landowner, and she was an exceedingly unattractive young woman. The well-consorted and joyous company assembled by Mrs. Hawclave's invitation showed a thorough comprehension of the varying treatment befitting these varying capacities. As the daughter of a wealthy landowner, Miss Dobson found as many partners as she could have wished forpartners who steered her through the mazy dance and into the refreshment-rooms and back with an air of long-suffering resignation, and retired with approving consciences when they had deposited her in a comfortable seat and uttered a final "Thank you.' As an exceedingly unattractive young woman, she was left very much to her own devices in those intervals between valse and galop, when the more sympathetic and sociable spirits formed themselves into pleasant coteries, when the wits and romps passed round the merry jest, and interesting young couples sought distant corners and the enjoyment of uninterrupted tête-à-têtes. Miss Dobson, upon these occasions, had a peculiar knack of ensconsing herself upon solitary window-seats, upon lonely chairs, or at the ends of unpeopled recesses, and looking like some mariner stranded upon a desolate island. It occasionally happened that some friend and contemporary of her father, actuated by none other than benevolent intentions, walked resolutely up to her, and observed that he hoped her parents were well, or that the moon would be full next week, or that the rooms were prettily decorated, or that the roads were rather bad, or any other amiable coinmonplace which would come handily to the tip of the tongue; but such was the curtness of Miss Dobson's replies, and such her manifest non-appreciation of the attention shown her, that the temerarious but well-meaning adventurer repented of his ill-advised benevolence, and looking wistfully from the desolate island across to the inhabited land he had deserted, would suddenly hear something of unusual interest, and walk back to whence he came, leaving Matilda to her previous olitude. It was then that Mrs. Dallocourt, less easily discouraged than these gentlemen, and having, moreover, a definite object in view, wherein self-interest was concerned, would take her seat by the lonely damsel and renew her attempts at conversation.

"Constant dropping," it is said, "will wear away a stone;" and although Mrs. Dallocourt failed to find that possibly nonexistent "open sesame," the much-wished-for subject of interest,

which might occasion streams of eloquence to flow from Miss Dobson's lips, she did at length succeed in getting something more than the short monosyllabic replies, which, for a long time, had sturdily baffled her overtures. Her advance was slow and gradual, but it culminated in a grand success. Matilda Dobson, having uttered her yea and nay, with their brief accompanying phrases, an incalulable number of times, began at length to grow more expansive, and to compose sentences of more imposing length. When Mrs. Dallocourt remarked that she did not like working in "prickly holly because it hurt the fingers," Miss Dobson said that "No more did she," and proceeded to volunteer the statement that "she did not mind it so much when the holly was smooth;" and Mrs. Dallocourt having subsequently expressed her astonishment that anyone should object to floral ornaments in a church, Miss Dobson not only coincided with this sentiment, but declared further. more that, in her opinion, people made a great deal more fuss about that sort of thing than was at all necessary.

All this was very encouraging. But when the enterprising lady of the cottage, fondly hoping that she had at last found the long. sought-for charm, the magic key to her companion's lips, endeavoured to pursue the subject and courted a discussion there. upon, it must be confessed that Matilda proved herself quite unequal to the occasion; for beyond reiterating the general statement that an unnecesssary amount of fuss was made about them, she could say nothing for the church-adorning flowers. Whatever quantity of words other people might think proper to waste upon the subject, it was clear that Miss Dobson had said her say, and considered it quite sufficient. Nevertheless, Mrs. Dallocourt felt that she had advanced a great step, and began to regard Matilda much in the same light in which a traveller in unexplored regions might regard a hopeful young savage, who, with proper mangement and judicious treatment, might be made to render valuable assistance. She had certainly progressed satisfactorily. And later on in the evening, when the last lingerers had left the supper-table, when the mirth in the ball-room waxed fast and furious, came the grand, culminating success. Miss Dobson origi

nated!

Until that time she had been content to follow Mrs. Dallocourt's lead, had not spoken of smooth holly until that lady had paved the way by speaking of the hoily that was prickly, had made no mention of floral ornaments until the subject was obtruded upon her notice, and had, in short, said nothing whatever which was not in some way called for or suggested by her companion. But now came the result of Mrs. Dallocourt's unwearying assiduity,

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