d for him at the gate. They entered the lane side by side,
following the stream of villagers who were slowly wending their homeward
way. It was a primitive English village, not adorned on the one hand
with fancy or model cottages, nor on the other hand indicating penury
and squalor. The church rose before them gray and Gothic, backed by the
red clouds in which the sun had set, and bordered by the glebe-land
of the half-seen parsonage. Then came the village green, with a
pretty schoolhouse; and to this succeeded a long street of scattered
whitewashed cottages, in the midst of their own little gardens.

As they walked the moon rose in full splendour, silvering the road
before them.

"Who is the Squire here?" asked Kenelm. "I should guess him to be a good
sort of man, and well off."

"Yes, Squire Travers; he is a great gentleman, and they say very rich.
But his place is a good way from this village. You can see it if you
stay, for he gives a harvest-home supper on Saturday, and Mr. Saunderson
and all his tenants are going. It is a beautiful park, and Miss Travers
is a sight to look at. Oh, she is lovely!" continued Jessie, with an
unaffected burst of admiration; for women are more sensible of the charm
of each other's beauty than men give them credit for.

"As pretty as yourself?"

"Oh, pretty is not the word. She is a thousand times handsomer!"

"Humph!" said Kenelm, incredulously.

There was a pause, broken by a quick sigh from Jessie.

"What are you sighing for?--tell me."

"I was thinking that a very little can make folks happy, but that
somehow or other that very little is as hard to get as if one set one's
heart on a great deal."

"That's very wisely said. Everybody covets a little something for which,
perhaps, nobody else would give a straw. But what's the very little
thing for which you are sighing?"

"Mrs. Bawtrey wants to sell that shop of hers. She is getting old, and
has had fits; and she can get nobody to buy; and if Will had that shop
and I could keep it,--but 'tis no use thinking of that."

"What shop do you mean?"

"There!"

"Where? I see no shop."

"But it is _the_ shop of the village,--the only one,--where the
post-office is."

"Ah! I see something at the windows like a red cloak. What do they
sell?"

"Everything,--tea and sugar and candles and shawls and gowns and cloaks
and mouse-traps and letter-paper; and Mrs. Bawtrey buys poor Will's
baskets, and sells them for a good deal more