As the active figure of a handsome young man, dressed for a journey, and followed by a porter bearing several packages and baskets, entered the orchard at a brisk pace, and with an air of gaiety and hope that accorded well with the morning, these three drew together, like the brothers of the sister Fates, or like the Graces most effectually disguised, or like the three weird prophets on the heath, and greeted him. 'Happy returns, Alf!' said the Doctor, lightly. 'A hundred happy returns of this auspicious day, Mr. Heathfield!' said Snitchey, bowing low. 'Returns!' Craggs murmured in a de