not far away was a fowl-house that supplied
him with more eggs than he could dispose of, except by sale. The Major's
maxim was, that the humblest offices of labour could be dignified by a
gentleman, and by his own example he proved the rule. What few leisure
hours he allowed himself were chiefly spent with rod and line on the
banks of the Adair.

George Strickland was an orphan, and had been adopted and brought up by
his uncle since he was six years old. So far, the uncle had been able
to supply the means for having him educated in accordance with his
wishes. For the last three years George had been at one of the public
schools, and now he was at home for a few weeks' holiday previously to
going to Cambridge.

It will of course be understood that but a very small portion of what is
here set down respecting Rose Cottage and its inmates was patent to me
at that first visit; much of it, indeed, did not come within my
cognizance till several years afterwards.

When breakfast was over, the Major lighted an immense meerschaum, and
then invited me to accompany him over his little demesne. To a girl
whose life had been spent within the four bare walls of a school-room,
everything was fresh and everything was delightful. First to the
fowl-house, then to the hives, and after that to see the brindled calf
in the paddock, whose gambols and general mode of conducting himself
were so utterly absurd that I laughed more in ten minutes after seeing
him than I had done in ten years previously.

When we got back to the cottage, George was ready to take me on the
river. The Major went down with us and saw us safely on board the _Water
Lily_, bade us good-bye for an hour, and then went about his morning's
business. I was rather frightened at first, the _Water Lily_ was such a
tiny craft, so long and narrow that it seemed to me as if the least
movement on one side must upset it. But George showed me exactly where
to sit, and gave me the tiller-ropes, with instructions how to manage
them, and was himself so full of quiet confidence that my fears quickly
died a natural death, and a sweet sense of enjoyment took their place.

We were on that part of the river which was below the weir, and as we
put out from shore the scene of my last night's adventure was clearly
visible. There, spanning the river just above the weir, was the
open-work timber bridge on which George was standing when my cry for
help struck his ears. There was the weir itsel