and was all affability and delight--but such a body of evidence as
she collected against the unfortunate locksmith that day, to be used
thereafter as occasion might require, never was got together for
matrimonial purposes.

In course of time--and in course of a pretty long time too, for these
agreeable interruptions delayed them not a little,--they arrived upon
the skirts of the Forest, and riding pleasantly on among the trees, came
at last to the Maypole, where the locksmith's cheerful 'Yoho!' speedily
brought to the porch old John, and after him young Joe, both of whom
were so transfixed at sight of the ladies, that for a moment they were
perfectly unable to give them any welcome, and could do nothing but
stare.

It was only for a moment, however, that Joe forgot himself, for speedily
reviving he thrust his drowsy father aside--to Mr Willet's mighty and
inexpressible indignation--and darting out, stood ready to help them to
alight. It was necessary for Dolly to get out first. Joe had her in his
arms;--yes, though for a space of time no longer than you could count
one in, Joe had her in his arms. Here was a glimpse of happiness!

It would be difficult to describe what a flat and commonplace affair the
helping Mrs Varden out afterwards was, but Joe did it, and did it too
with the best grace in the world. Then old John, who, entertaining a
dull and foggy sort of idea that Mrs Varden wasn't fond of him, had been
in some doubt whether she might not have come for purposes of assault
and battery, took courage, hoped she was well, and offered to conduct
her into the house. This tender being amicably received, they marched
in together; Joe and Dolly followed, arm-in-arm, (happiness again!) and
Varden brought up the rear.

Old John would have it that they must sit in the bar, and nobody
objecting, into the bar they went. All bars are snug places, but the
Maypole's was the very snuggest, cosiest, and completest bar, that ever
the wit of man devised. Such amazing bottles in old oaken pigeon-holes;
such gleaming tankards dangling from pegs at about the same inclination
as thirsty men would hold them to their lips; such sturdy little Dutch
kegs ranged in rows on shelves; so many lemons hanging in separate nets,
and forming the fragrant grove already mentioned in this chronicle,
suggestive, with goodly loaves of snowy sugar stowed away hard by,
of punch, idealised beyond all mortal knowledge; such closets, such
presses, such dr