be mentioned again
unless I mention it. And let my word be law."

Mr. Carnegie's word, in that house, was law.

CHAPTER IV.

_A RIDE WITH THE DOCTOR._

The next morning Mr. Carnegie was not in imperative haste to start on
his daily circuit. The boys had to give him an account of yesterday's
fun. He heard them comfortably, and rejoiced the heart of Bessie by
telling her to be ready to ride with him at ten o'clock--her mother
could spare her. Bessie was not to wait for when the hour came. These
rides with her father were ever her chief delight. She wore a round
beaver hat with a rosette in front, and a habit of dark blue serge.
(There had been some talk of a new one for her, but now her mother
reflected that it would not be wanted.)

It was a delicate morning, the air was light and clear, the sky gray and
silvery. Bessie rode Miss Hoyden, the doctor's little mare, and trotted
along at a brisk pace by his stout cob Brownie. She had a sense of the
keenest enjoyment in active exercise. Mr. Carnegie looked aside at her
often, his dear little Bessie, thinking, but not speaking, of the
separation that impended. Bessie's pleasure in the present was enough to
throw that into the background. She did not analyze her sensations, but
her cheeks glowed, her eyes shone, and she knew that she was happy. They
were on their way to Littlemire, where Mr. Moxon lived--a poor clergyman
with whom young Musgrave was reading. Almost as soon as they were clear
of the village they struck into a green ride through the beeches, and
cut off a great angle of the high-road, coming out again on a furzy
opening dotted with old oaks, where the black pigs of the cottagers
would by and by feast and grow fat on their common rights. It was a
lovely, damp, perilous spot, haunted by the ghost of fever and ague. The
soft, vivid turf was oozy there, and the long-rooted stones were clothed
with wet, rusted moss. The few cottages of the hamlet wore deep hoods of
thatch, and stood amongst prosperous orchards; one of them, a little
larger than the rest, being the habitation of Mr. Moxon, the vicar of
Littlemire, whose church, dame-school, and income were all of the same
modest proportions as his dwelling. He had an invalid wife and no
attraction for resident pupils, but he was thankful when he could get
one living not too far off. Young Musgrave walked from Brook twice a
week--a long four miles--to read with him.

The lad was in the vicar's parlor when