ded; which that virtuous
animal forthwith began to discuss with both fore-feet in the
trough--by way, probably, of adding to the flavor--while his
master scratched him gently between the ears and on the back with
a short stick till the repast was concluded. Then he opened the
door of the stye, and the grateful animal rushed out into the
lane, and away to the green with a joyful squeal and flirt of his
hind-quarters in the air; and Harry, after picking a bunch of
wall-flowers, and pansies, and hyacinths, a line of which flowers
skirted the narrow garden walk, and putting them in a long-necked
glass which he took from the mantel-piece, proceeded to his
morning ablutions, ample materials for which remained at the
bottom of the family bucket, which he had put down on a little
bench by the side of the porch. These finished, he retired
indoors to shave and dress himself.

CHAPTER XVIII

ENGLEBOURNE VILLAGE

Dame Winburn was not long after her son, and they sat down
together to breakfast in their best Sunday clothes--she, in a
plain large white cap which covered all but a line of grey hair,
a black stuff gown reaching to neck and wrists, and small silk
neckkerchief put on like a shawl; a thin, almost gaunt old woman,
whom the years had not used tenderly, and who showed marks of
their usage--but a resolute, high-couraged soul, who had met hard
times in the face, and could meet them again if need were. She
spoke in broad Berkshire, and was otherwise a homely body, but
self-possessed and without a shade of real vulgarity in her
composition.

The widow looked with some anxiety at Harry as he took his seat.
Although something of a rustic dandy, of late he had not been so
careful in the matter of dress as usual; but, in consequence of
her reproaches, on this Sunday there was nothing to complain of.
His black velveteen shooting coat, and cotton plush waistcoat,
his brown corduroy knee-breeches and gaiters, sat on him well,
and gave the world assurance of a well-to-do man, for few of the
Englebourn labourers rose above smock-frocks and fustian
trousers. He wore a blue bird's-eye handkerchief round his neck,
and his shirt, though coarse in texture, was as white as the sun
and the best laundress in Englebourn could manage to bleach it.
There was nothing to find fault with in his dress, therefore, but
still his mother did not feel quite comfortable as she took
stealthy glances at him. Harry was naturally a reserved fellow,
a