lieve gold, speckled about in it like a lady- 

 bird's wings — I bate all make-believes, all 

 shams ; they're worse than poison ; and 

 stinking of some outlandish scent, so that 

 I'm forced to smoke a couple of pipes extra 

 to get rid of the smell ; and latterly, as if 

 this folly was not enough, he has crammed 

 these precious scrawls into a sort of paper- 

 bag, pasted together just as if o' purpose to 

 make us pay double postage. Jackanapes 

 did I call him? He's a worse mollycot than 

 a woman." 



" Dear father, all young men will be 

 foolish one way or another ; and you know 

 my uncle says, that William is Avonderfully 

 steady for so young a man, and his master 

 is so well pleased with him, that he is now 

 foreman in his great concern. You must 

 pardon a little nonsense in a country youth, 

 thrown suddenly into a fine shop, in the 

 gayest part of London, and with his god- 

 father's legacy coming unexpectedly upon 

 him, and making him too rich for a journey- 

 man tradesman. But he's coming to see us 

 now. He would have come six months ago, 

 as soon as he got this money, if his master 

 could have spared him ; and he'll be wiser 

 before he goes back to London." 



" Not he. Hang Lunnon ! Why did he 

 go to Lunnon at all ? Why could he not stop 

 at Rutherford, like his father and his father's 

 father, and see to the farm ? What business 

 had he in a great shop ? a man-mercer's they 



say 



call it. What call had he to Lunnon, I 

 Tell me that, Miss Susan." 



" Why, dear father, you know very well 

 that when Master George Arnot was so 

 unluckily obstinate about the affair of the 

 watercourse, and would go to law witli you, 

 and swore that instead of marrying William, 

 poor Mary should be married to the rich 

 maltster, old Jacob Giles, William, who had 

 loved Mary ever since they were children 

 together, could not bear to stay in the 

 country, and went off to my uncle, forbid - 

 ing me ever to mention her name in a letter ; 

 and so " 



" Well, well," rejoined the father, somewhat 

 softened, "but he need not have turned 

 puppy and coxcomb because he was crossed 

 in love. Pshaw ! " added the good farmer, 

 giving a mighty tug with his paddle at a 

 tough mullein, which happened to stand in 

 his way, " I was crossed in love myself, in 

 my young days, but I did not run off and 

 turn tailor. I made up plump to another 

 wench — your poor mother, Susan, that's 

 dead and gone — and carried her off like a 

 man ; married her in a month, girl ; and 

 that's what Will should have done. I'm 

 afear'd we shall find him a sad jackanapes. 

 Jem Hathaway, the gauger, told me last 

 market-day, that he saw him one Sunday in 

 the what-dye-call't — the Park there, covered 



with rings, and gold chains, and fine velvets 

 — all green and gold, like our great peacock. 

 Well, we shall soon see. He comes to- 

 night, you say ? Tis not above six o'clock 

 by the sun, and the Wantage coach don't 

 come in till seven. Even if they lend him a 

 horse and cart at the Nag's Head, he can't 

 be here these two hours. So I shall just 

 see the ten- acre field cleared, and be home 

 time enough to shake him by the hand if he 

 comes like a man, or to kick him out of 

 doors if he looks like a dandy." And off 

 strode the stout yeoman in his clouted shoes, 

 his leather gaiters, and smock-frock, and a 

 beard (it was Friday) of six days' growth ; 

 looking altogether prodigiously like a man 

 who would keep his word. 



Susan, on her part, continued to thread 

 the narrow winding lanes that led towards 

 Wantage ; walking leisurely along, and 

 forming as she went, half unconsciously, a 

 nosegay of the wild flowers of the season; 

 the delicate hare -bell, the lingering wood- 

 vetch, the blue scabious, the heaths which 

 clustered on the bank, the tall graceful lilac 

 campanula, the snowy bells of the bindweed, 

 the latest briar-rose, and that species of 

 clematis, which, perhaps, because it generally 

 indicates the neighborhood of houses, has 

 won for itself the pretty name of the travel- 

 ler's joy ; whilst that loveliest of wild flowers, 

 whose name is now sentimentalised out of 

 prettiness, the intensely blue forget-me-not, 

 was there in rich profusion. 



Susan herself was not unlike her posy ; 

 sweet and delicate, and full of a certain 

 pastoral grace. Her light and airy figure 

 suited well with a fair mild countenance, 

 breaking into blushes and smiles when she 

 spoke, and set off by bright ringlets of golden 

 hair, parted on her white forehead, and 

 hanging in long curls on her finely rounded 

 cheeks. Always neat, but never fine; 

 gentle, cheerful, and modest, it would be 

 difficult to find a prettier specimen of an 

 English farmer's daughter, than Susan 

 Hosve. But just now the little damsel wore 

 a look of care not usual to her fair and 

 tranquil features ; she seemed, as she was, 

 full of trouble. 



"Poor William!" so ran her thoughts, 

 " my father would not even listen to his last 

 letter, because it poisoned him with musk. 

 I wonder that William can like that dis- 

 agreeable smell! and he expects him to 

 come down on the top of the coach, instead 

 of which, he says, that he means to pur- 

 chase a — a — (even in her thoughts poor 

 Susan could not master the word, and was 

 obliged to have recourse to the musk- 

 scented billet), britschka— ay, that's it !—■ or a 

 droschky; I wonder what sort of things 

 they are — and that he only visits us en pas- 

 sant in a tour, for which, town being so 



