les to Misselton (for the horses were not in the way), and ordered
them. Now, what color are ash-buds in March?"

Is the man going mad? thought I. He is very like Don Quixote.

"What color are they, I say?" repeated he, vehemently.

"I am sure I don't know, sir," said I, with the meekness of ignorance.

"I knew you didn't. No more did I--an old fool that I am! till this young
man comes and tells me. 'Black as ash-buds in March.' And I've lived all
my life in the country; more shame for me not to know. Black; they are
jet-black, madam." And he went off again, swinging along to the music of
some rhyme he had got hold of.

When he came home nothing would serve him but that he must read us the
poems he had been speaking of; and Miss Pole encouraged him in his
proposal, I thought, because she wished me to hear his beautiful reading,
of which she had boasted; but she afterward said it was because she had
got to a difficult part of her crotchet, and wanted to count her stitches
without having to talk. Whatever he had proposed would have been right to
Miss Matey; although she did fall sound asleep within five minutes after
he began a long poem called "Locksley Hall," and had a comfortable nap,
unobserved, till he ended; when the cessation of his voice wakened her up,
and she said, feeling that something was expected, and that Miss Pole was
counting:

"What a pretty book!"

"Pretty! madam! it's beautiful! Pretty, indeed!"

"Oh, yes! I meant beautiful!" said she, fluttered at his disapproval of
her word. "It is so like that beautiful poem of Dr. Johnson's my sister
used to read--I forget the name of it; what was it, my dear?" turning to
me.

"Which do you mean, ma'am? What was it about?"

"I don't remember what it was about, and I've quite forgotten what the
name of it was; but it was written by Dr. Johnson, and was very beautiful,
and very like what Mr. Holbrook has just been reading."

"I don't remember it," said he, reflectively, "but I don't know Dr.
Johnson's poems well. I must read them."

As we were getting into the fly to return, I heard Mr. Holbrook say he
should call on the ladies soon, and inquire how they got home; and this
evidently pleased and fluttered Miss Matey at the time he said it; but
after we had lost sight of the old house among the trees, her sentiments
toward the master of it were gradually absorbed into a distressing wonder
as to whether Martha had broken her word, and seized on the opportun