of its own accord; 'but never marry
a soldier, Doll, my dear.'

Dolly didn't ask why not, or say a word, indeed, but stooped her head
down very low to tie his sash.

'I never wear this dress,' said honest Gabriel, 'but I think of poor Joe
Willet. I loved Joe; he was always a favourite of mine. Poor Joe!--Dear
heart, my girl, don't tie me in so tight.'

Dolly laughed--not like herself at all--the strangest little laugh that
could be--and held her head down lower still.

'Poor Joe!' resumed the locksmith, muttering to himself; 'I always wish
he had come to me. I might have made it up between them, if he had. Ah!
old John made a great mistake in his way of acting by that lad--a great
mistake.--Have you nearly tied that sash, my dear?'

What an ill-made sash it was! There it was, loose again and trailing
on the ground. Dolly was obliged to kneel down, and recommence at the
beginning.

'Never mind young Willet, Varden,' said his wife frowning; 'you might
find some one more deserving to talk about, I think.'

Miss Miggs gave a great sniff to the same effect.

'Nay, Martha,' cried the locksmith, 'don't let us bear too hard upon
him. If the lad is dead indeed, we'll deal kindly by his memory.'

'A runaway and a vagabond!' said Mrs Varden.

Miss Miggs expressed her concurrence as before.

'A runaway, my dear, but not a vagabond,' returned the locksmith in
a gentle tone. 'He behaved himself well, did Joe--always--and was a
handsome, manly fellow. Don't call him a vagabond, Martha.'

Mrs Varden coughed--and so did Miggs.

'He tried hard to gain your good opinion, Martha, I can tell you,' said
the locksmith smiling, and stroking his chin. 'Ah! that he did. It seems
but yesterday that he followed me out to the Maypole door one night, and
begged me not to say how like a boy they used him--say here, at home, he
meant, though at the time, I recollect, I didn't understand. "And how's
Miss Dolly, sir?" says Joe,' pursued the locksmith, musing sorrowfully,
'Ah! Poor Joe!'

'Well, I declare,' cried Miggs. 'Oh! Goodness gracious me!'

'What's the matter now?' said Gabriel, turning sharply to her, 'Why, if
here an't Miss Dolly,' said the handmaid, stooping down to look into her
face, 'a-giving way to floods of tears. Oh mim! oh sir. Raly it's give
me such a turn,' cried the susceptible damsel, pressing her hand upon
her side to quell the palpitation of her heart, 'that you might knock me
down with a feather.'

The locksm