“Lord, Poll,” said the brother, “you’re always wanting to be staring and gaping; and I’m sure you needn’t be so fond of showing yourself, for you’re ugly enough to frighten a horse.”

“Ugly, indeed! I wonder which is best, you or me. But, I tell you what, Tom, you’ve no need to give yourself such airs; for, if you do, I’ll tell Miss of-you know what-”

“Who cares if you do? you may tell what you will; I don’t mind-”

“Indeed,” cried I, “I do not desire to hear any secrets.”

“O, but I’m resolved I’ll tell you, because Tom’s so very spiteful. You must know, Miss, t’other night-”

“Poll,” cried the brother, “if you tell of that, Miss shall know all about your meeting young Brown,-you know when!-So I’ll be quits with you one way or other.”

Miss Polly coloured, and again proposed our going down stairs till Mr. Smith’s room was ready for our reception.

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