What was that you were scuffling into your jacket
pocket? Worms for fishing?"

"Of course."

"Was it? I know better. I heered the paper crackle; it's another
letter for her."

"What!" cried the boy, changing colour. "What her?"

"Her as you write to. I saw you scribbling, and watched you sneak off
down to the village to post it."

"You're a wicked fibster, Jenny."

"Oh, no, I'm not. What did you give the postman five shillings for?"

"I didn't," said the boy, flaring up.

"Yes, you did, and it was to bring letters for you on the sly, I shall
write and inform the post-office people."

"Yes, you do, and I'll half kill you, and poison old Mark."

"There! I knew it. Who is she?"

"You be off."

"No, nor I shan't be off neither. I believe it's Dan Smart's girl,
who's gone to London. Oh, my! what a wicked one you are, Master Syd,
for such a boy. Your sangwidges is ready. Shall I bring 'em here?"

"Did you get the flask?"

"Yes."

"And filled it with milk and sherry?"

"Yes, but you don't deserve it, for threatening to get poor Mark the
sack."

"Then you shouldn't threaten to tell tales."

"I won't, Master Syd, if you won't."

"All right, then, it's a truce. Here, I must be off."

"What, without your sangwidges and flask?"

"No; to get my fishing-rod."

"Then you won't tell?"

"Tell? No. Here, give us a kiss, Jenny."

"Shan't. They're all for Mark."

"Must," cried the boy, seizing her round the waist.

"Pst! Someone coming."

Syd dashed out of the window, and the girl began to move some of the
breakfast things, but was interrupted by the entrance of a sharp-looking
young groom with very closely-cut hair, and trousers so tight in the leg
that the wonder was how he put them on and pulled them off.

"Oh, it's you, is it, Mark?" said the girl, tartly.

"Me it is, Jenny. Think it was the boss?"

"Maybe. Here's a pretty time of the morning to have breakfast things
about."

"Pretty time? Of course, it's a pretty time. Eat when you're hungry.
When the guv'nor wants his corn he'll come down to the sally-manger as
they call it."

"But look at the time!"

"Oh, hang the time! A man ain't a locomotive, made to live up to a
time-table. I believe her ladyship has a time for everything, down to
sneezing and cleaning her teeth. It's orful, that it is."

"Ah! you're a pretty pair."

"We was in the old days, Jenny," said the young man, with a smirk,
"before we began to go