tall
and noble-looking man, about thirty, leading a grey pony, on which sat
a beautiful woman with a child in her arms. Our party immediately moved
forward to meet them, and a most friendly greeting took place on both
sides, Mary at once taking possession of the child.

This was Major Buckley and his wife Agnes. I mentioned before that,
after Clere was sold, the Major had taken a cottage in Drumston, and
was a constant visitor on the Vicar; generally calling for the old
gentleman to come fishing or shooting, and leaving his wife and his
little son Samuel in the company of Mary and Miss Thornton.

"I have come, Vicar, to take you out fishing," said he. "Get your rod
and come. A capital day. Why, here's the Doctor."

So there was, standing among them before any one had noticed him.

"I announce," said he, "that I shall accept the most agreeable
invitation that any one will give me. What are you going to do, Major?"

"Going fishing."

"Ah! and you, madam?" turning to Miss Thornton.

"I am going to see Mrs. Lee, who has a low fever, poor thing."

"Which Mrs. Lee, madam?"

"Mrs. Lee of Eyford."

"And which Mrs. Lee of Eyford, madam?"

"Mrs. James Lee."

"Junior or senior?" persevered the doctor.

"Junior," replied Miss Thornton, laughing.

"Ah!" said the Doctor, "now we have it. I would suggest that all the
Mrs. Lees in the parish should have a ticket with a number on it, like
the VOITURIERS. Buckley, lay it before the quarter-sessions. If you say
the idea came from a foreigner, they would adopt it immediately. Miss
Thornton, I will do myself the honour of accompanying you, and
examining the case."

So the ladies went off with the Doctor, while the Vicar and Major
Buckley turned to go fishing.

"I shall watch you, Major, instead of fishing myself," said the Vicar.
"Where do you propose going?"

"To the red water," said the Major. Accordingly they turn down a long,
deep lane, which looks certainly as if it would lead one to a red
brook, for the road and banks are of a brick-colour. And so it does,
for presently before them they discern a red mill, and a broad,
pleasant ford, where a crystal brook dimples and sparkles over a bed of
reddish-purple pebbles.

"It is very clear," says the Major. "What's the fly to be, Vicar?"

"That's a very hard question to answer," says the Vicar. "Your
Scotchman, eh? or a small blue dun?"

"We'll try both," says the Major; and in a very short time it becomes
apparent