that Leila was
somehow concerned, and also the feeling that he would rather have
suffered to the end. However, it would be rather good fun to announce
this swimming-permit to the boys.

Seeing from his shop door John riding down the avenue, Josiah came
limping across the road. He leaned on the gate facing the boy and looking
over the horse and rider with the pleasure of one who, as the Squire
liked to say, knew when horse-flesh and man-flesh were suitably matched.

"Girth's a bit slack, Master John. Always look it over, sir, before you
mount."

"Thanks, Josiah. Open the gate, please. How lame you are. I am to send
the doctor to look after you and Peter Lamb."

The big black man opened the gate and adjusted the girth. "That's right
now. I've got the worst rheumatics I ever did have. Peter Lamb's sick
too. That's apple-whisky. The Squire's mighty patient with that man,
because his mother nursed the Squire when he was a baby. They're near of
an age, but you wouldn't think it to look at Peter and the Captain;
whisky does hurry up Old Time a lot." And so John got the town gossip.
"I ain't no faith in doctorin' rheumatics; wouldn't have him now if I
hadn't lost my old buck-eye. My rabbit-foot's turned grey this week.
That's a sign of trouble."

John laughed and rode from the gate on which Leila had invited him to
indulge in the luxury of swinging. It seemed years ago since she had sung
to his astonishment the lyric of the gate. She appeared to him now not
much older. And how completely he felt at home. He rode along the old
pike through Westways, nodding to Mrs. Lamb, the mother of the scamp whom
the Squire was every now and then saving from the consequences of the
combination of a revengeful nature and bad whisky. Then Billy hailed John
with malicious simplicity.

"Halloa!--John--can't swim--can't swim--ho, ho!"

The butcher's small boy was loading meat on a cart. John stayed to say a
word to him, pleased to have the chance, as the boy grinned at Billy's
mocking malice. "Halloa! Pole," he called. "My uncle says we fellows may
swim. Tell the other fellows."

"Gosh! but that's good--John. I'll tell 'em."

John rode on and fell to thinking of Leila, with some humiliating
suspicion in regard to her share in the Squire's change of mind; or was
it Aunt Ann's influence? And why did he himself not altogether like it?
Why should his aunt and Leila interfere? He wished they had let the
matter alone. What had a girl to do wi