eful as she was
determined, she folded the garment compactly and sat upon it.

The Sergeant, about to enter the arbour, paused, started and stood at
attention.

"Good day, Sergeant Zebedee!" quoth she demurely.

"Same to you my lady and thank'ee."

"And pray how is the Major?"

"Ha'n't you just seen him mam?"

"Indeed, but he--he vanished before I could speak a word, Sergeant."

"Zounds!" murmured the Sergeant.

"What d'you say, Sergeant Zebedee?

"Why my lady, 'tis his coat I'm after----"

"Coat?" repeated my lady.

"Aye mam, his Ramillie coat, sent me here for same----"

"I don't see it, do you, Sergeant?"

"Why no, my lady, I don't! But he says he left same here and----"

"But it doesn't seem to be, does it?"

"No my lady, unless you----"

"And how is the Major, pray?"

Sergeant Zebedee sighed and shook his head.

"Lord, my lady, he is that gloomy, he do sigh continual--mopes in his
study when he should be out i' the sun and wanders abroad when he
should be snug abed----"

"But he sat out here to-day----"

"Aye, for a wonder! 'Twas Mrs. Agatha and me as coaxed him out."

"He seems to be a very--uncomfortably--moody kind of man, Sergeant."

"Aye--but only of late, my lady."

"I wonder why?" The Sergeant glanced down into her bright eyes, looked
at earth, looked at sky, and scratched his chin.

"Why, since you put the point, my lady, I should say 'tis either on
account o' petticoats or witchcraft or--maybe both. And talking o'
witchcraft, there's his coat now, p'r'aps you might chance to be----"

"He seems mighty set on this coat," said she, deftly spreading out her
voluminous petticoats, "and 'tis such a shabby, woeful old thing."

"True mam, but I follered that coat through the smoke and dust of
Ramillies fight though 'twas gayer then, d'ye see, but even now it
shows the rents in skirt and arm o' bullet and bagnet as he took that
day. 'Tis a wonderful garment, my lady."

"It would irk him to lose it, belike?"

"Lose it! Mam, it aren't to be thought on!"

"Still I think 'twould do him a world of good if 'twere lost awhile, it
seems to affect him so evilly."

"Nay, I think 'tis t'other way about, mam. Says I to him one day,
'Sir,' says I, 'when at all put out wherefore and why the Ramillie
coat?' 'Because Zeb,' says he, 'when I put it on I seem to put on some
of my lost youth also.' Still, there's limits, mam, there's limits,
and for a gentleman o' his degree to go out in