“MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. "Sometimes a cup of lies is a cheering thing," replied the trader. “You are so sweet, Lucy. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. “I’m still new to them. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it.
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