"Good-bye, Mac. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud. “You vixen!” said Mr. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it.
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