d. You see that place down in Ferny dell--there's a steep bank down
to the water. Well, my young Lord was very keen about building a kind
of steps there in the summer, and he and I settled the stones, and I
was to cement 'em. By comes Mr. Frost, and finds faults, what I
thought he'd no call to; so I flings down my trowel, and wouldn't go on
for he! I was so mortal angry, I would not go back to the work; and I
believe my Lord forgot it--and then he went back to college; and
Frampton and Gervas, they put on me, and you know how 'twas I come away
from Ormersfield. I was not going to say a word to one of that lot! but
if I could see Lord Fitzjocelyn, I'd tell him they stones arn't fixed;
and if the frost gets into 'em, there'll be a pretty go next time
there's a tolerablish weight! But there--it is his own look-out! If
he never thought it worth his while to keep his promise, and come and
see me--'

'O Tom! that isn't right! He only forgot--I hear Mrs. Beckett telling
him he'd forget his own head if it wasn't fixed on, and Mr. James is
always at him.'

'Forget! Aye, there's nothing gentlefolks forget like poor folks. But
I've done with he! Let him look out--I kept my promises to him long
enough, but if he don't keep his'n--'

'For shame, for shame, Tom! You don't mean it!' cried Charlotte. 'But,
oh!' with a different tone, 'give me the mat! There's the old Lord and
Mr. Poynings riding down the terrace!'

'I ain't ashamed of nothing!' said the lad, proudly; and as Charlotte
snatched away the mats, and vanished like a frightened hare, he stalked
along like a village Hampden, muttering, 'The old tyrant shall see
whether I'm to be trampled on!' and with both hands in his pockets, he
gazed straight up into the face of the grave elderly gentleman, who
never even perceived him. He could merely bandy glances with Poynings,
the groom, and he was so far from indifferent that he significantly
lifted up the end of his whip. Nothing could more have gratified Tom,
who retorted with a grimace and murmur, 'Don't you wish you may catch
me? You jealous syc--what is the word, sick of uncles or aunts, was
it, that the orator called 'em? He'd say I'd a good miss of being one
of that sort, and that my young Lord there opened my eyes in time. No
better than the rest of 'em--'

And the clock striking eight, he quickened his pace to return to his
work. He had for the two or three previous years been nominally under
the gardener