"I did not expect to find you here, Miss Lucy," cried Grace, "eating
half-ripe currants, too, or my eyes deceive me, at this early hour in
the morning. It is not twenty minutes since you were in your own room,
quite unadorned."
"The green fruit of dear Clawbonny is better than the ripe fruit of
those vile New York markets!" exclaimed Lucy, with a fervour so
natural as to forbid any suspicion of acting. "I should prefer a
Clawbonny potatoe, to a New York peach!"
Grace smiled, and, as soon as Lucy's animation had a little subsided,
_she_ blushed.
"How much better would it be, Miles," my sister resumed, "could you be
induced to think and feel with us, and quit the seas, to come and live
for the rest of your days on the spot where your fathers have so long
lived before you. Would
