here, and the down blows
right over my beds, thick as snow, so that it is three women's work to
be a match for the weeds; but speak to him of pulling it up, ye'd think
'twas the heart out of him.'

'Does he ever work here?'

'At first it was nought else; he and that young chap, Madison, always
bringing docks and darnel out of the hedges, and plants from the
nursery gardens, and bringing rockwork, and letting water in to make a
swamp. There's no saying what's in the lad's head! But, of late, he's
not done much but by times lying on the bank, reading or speaking
verses out loud to himself, or getting young Madison off his work to
listen to him. Once he got me to hear; but, ma'am, 'twas all about
fairies and such like, putting an ass's head on an honest body as had
lost his way. I told him 'twas no good for him or the boy to read such
stuff, and I'd ha' none of it; but, if he chose to read me some good
book, he'd be welcome--for the candles baint so good as they used, and
I can't get no spectacles to suit me.'

'And did he read to you?'

'A bit or two, ma'am, if the humour took him. But he's young, you see,
ma'am. I'm right glad he'll find you here. My old woman says he do
want a lady about the place to make him comfortable like.'

'And who is this young Madison?' asked Mrs. Ponsonby, when they had
turned from the old gardener.

'To hear Jem, you would believe that he is the most promising plant
rearing for Botany Bay!' said Mrs. Frost. 'He is a boy from that wild
place Marksedge, whom Louis took interest in, and made more familiar
than Jem liked, or than, perhaps, was good for him. It did not answer;
the servants did not like it, and it ended in his being sent to work
with Smith, the ironmonger. Poor Louis! he took it sadly to heart, for
he had taken great pains with the boy.'

'I like to hear the old name, Louis!'

'I can't help it,' said Mrs. Frost. 'He must be his old aunt Kitty's
Louis le Debonnaire! Don't you, remember your calling him so when he
was a baby?'

'Oh yes, it has exactly recalled to me the sort of gracious look that
he used to have--half sly, half sweet-and so very pretty!'

'It suits him as well now. He is the kind of being who must have a pet
name;' and Mrs. Frost, hoping he might be already arrived, could hardly
slacken her eager step so as to keep pace with her niece's feeble
movements. She was disappointed; the carriage had returned without
Lord Fitzjocelyn. His hat and