e supposed, all the young men in the neighbourhood were anxious
to marry her; but she gave them little or no encouragement. She used
to tell them that she was well able to take care of herself, so what
good would a husband be to her? She didn't want to support him, and
she didn't need his support. It was better as it was. As for falling
in love, that was a thing she couldn't pretend to understand; but her
maiden aunt had once told her that it was more bother than it was
worth, and she thought it very likely. Moreover, if by any accident
she should one day happen to fall in love, she would take great care
that it should not be suspected, because the man she loved would then
become so puffed up with conceit there'd be no bearing him!

Such was Rosamund's declared opinion upon matrimony; and it caused
gloom to dwell in the heart of many a love-sick swain. But (what was
strange) the more love-sick they grew the fatter and rosier they
became. The reason probably was that they were for ever going to the
Brindled Cow under pretence of being thirsty--but in reality to feast
their eyes on Rosamund's lovely face; and since, thirsty or not, she
insisted upon their drinking, as long as they stayed, at the rate of a
pint of rich unskimmed milk every ten minutes, you will easily
understand that it soon became possible to measure the ardour of their
affection in pounds avoirdupois. So that by-and-by, when the elders of
the village would see their sons waxing great of girth and blowzy of
visage, they would shake their heads and murmur sadly--

'Ah! poor lad, how healthy he's getting! 'Tis plain he's in love with
Mistress Rosamund!'

There was one young fellow, however, who was seldom seen among the
tipplers at the Brindled Cow. He was a slender youth, rather pale,
with straight black eyebrows and large thoughtful eyes, which always
seemed to be gazing at something far away. There was a romantic story
about him, which you shall hear. When he was a small child, only three
years old, his mother (who took in washing, and would be called a
laundress nowadays) was up to her elbows one Tuesday afternoon in
soapsuds and shirts; and Raymond--that was the child's name--was
sitting beside the washing-tub, blowing soap-bubbles. All of a sudden
the tramp of a horse was heard in the street without, and the woman,
looking up from her scrubbing-board had a glimpse through the window
of a magnificent horseman, in silk and velvet, with rosettes on his