ppiness. Bless the
Lord, He do make it happy work for man to seek His glory--and that's
what Tom doth. I'll trust the Lord to see to his happiness."

Just as the green puddings came out of the pan, Tom Fenton turned into
the lane leading up to his own home, having been engaged in delivering a
work-table that he had made for the Vicar's wife. It was a beautiful
day at the end of October, very warm for the time of year, and the sun
was near its setting. As Tom came to a turn in the lane, he saw a short
distance before him, up a bye-road which led past Farmer Lavender's
house, a solitary girlish figure, walking slowly, and now and then
stopping to gather something from the bank. A slight quickening of his
steps, and a turn into the bye-road, soon brought him up with the
solitary walker.

"Good even, Jenny!"

"Good even, Tom!"

For some seconds they walked abreast without any further speech. Then
Tom said--

"I've just been up to parson's."

"Oh, have you?" replied Jenny, a little nervously.

"Their Dorcas saith she's heard as Featherstone's back."

"Is he so?" said Jenny, in a still more constrained tone.

"Didn't like it in France, from what she heard."

"Very like not," murmured Jenny.

"He's got a place with Mr Chadderton--the young gentleman who was
married of late, and who's coming to live at Bentley Hall; so you're
like to see a bit of him again."

"I don't want to see him," said Jenny suddenly. "I'd as lief he didn't
come nigh me."

"You was used to like him middling well wasn't you, Jenny?"

Before Jenny could answer, the very person of whom they were speaking
appeared at a turn of the lane, coming towards them.

"Mrs Jenny Lavender, as I live!" said he. "Now, this is luck! I was
on my way to the farm--"

"With your back to it?" asked Tom.

Mr Featherstone ignored both Tom and the question.

"Mrs Jenny, since I had the delight of sunning myself in your fair
eyes, I have had the high honour of beholding His Most Gracious Majesty
King Charles, who was pleased to command me to deliver into your white
hands a jewel which His Majesty detached from his own hat. He--"

"Me!" exclaimed Jenny, in so astounded a tone as to remind Featherstone
that he was beginning his story at the wrong end.

"Oh, of course you know not," he said, a little put out, for his speech
had been carefully studied, though he had forgotten the peroration,
"that His Majesty is Will Jackson. I mean, Will Jackson was