"I am glad that Archibald acquitted himself well." She went on to tell me of a youthful adventure of her own with a mountain bull, in her native Wales.
Some days later she sent me a poem on the occurrence: "Lo, as he strides his native scene, The bull--how dignified his mien! When tethered, otherwise! Yet _one_ his tether broke and ran After a military man Before these very eyes!" "I feel that I have been more successful with the metre than usual," she added, "having been guided by a little poem, a favourite of mine, which, as it also inculcates kindness to the brute creation, you will do well, Harry, to commit to memory.

It runs: "'Poor little birds! If people knew What sorrows little birds go through, I think that even boys Would never deem it sport, or fun, To stand and fire a frightful gun For nothing but the noise.'" The shadow of Mr.Archibald seemed doomed to rest upon our anniversaries.

This second one, though more than exciting enough, had not answered my expectations: and, on the third, when I presented myself at the Bun Shop it was to learn with dismay that Miss Plinlimmon had not arrived; with dismay and something more--for I had walked into the country towards Plympton early that morning and raided an orchard under the trees of which grew a fine crop of columbines, seeded from a neighbouring garden.

Also I jingled together in my pocket no less a sum than two bright shillings, which Mr.Trapp had magnificently handed over to me out of a wager of five he had made with an East Country skipper that I could dive and take the water, hands first, off the jib-boom of any vessel selected from the shipping then at anchor in Cattewater.

I knew that Miss Plinlimmon wanted a box to hold her skeins, and I also knew the price of one in a window in George Street, and had the shopman's promise not to part with it before five o'clock that evening.