"If I don't make a sportsman of you--" "Ay," added the priest, "you will find yourself in excellent hands, Mr.
Woodward." "If I don't make a sportsman of you:--confound your grinning, Father Tom, what are you at ?--I'll make a far better thing of you, that is, a good fellow, always, of course, provided that you have the materials in you." "Not a doubt of it," added Father Tom; "you'll polish the same youth until he shines like yourself or his worthy father here.

He'll give you a complexion, my boy--a commodity that you sadly want at present." The evening was now too far advanced to think of having coffee--a beverage, by the way, to which scarcely a single soul of them was addicted.

They accordingly got to their legs, and as darkness was setting in they set out for the village to witness the rejoicings.

Young Woodward, however, followed his brother to the drawing-room, whither he had betaken himself at an early hour after dinner.

Under their escort, their mother and sister accompanied them to the bonfire.