bout the mistress--she's no' but a kill-joy. There'd
be no merry neet an' she were at home." "Well, I is fair maizelt 'at he
won't wait for Master Hugh--his awn brother, thoo knows." "What, lass,
dusta think as he wad do owt at the durdum to-neet? Maybe tha's
reckoning on takin' a step wi' him, eh?" "And if I is, it's nowt sa
strange." "Weel, I wadna be for saying tha's aiming too high, for I mind
me of a laal lass once as they called Mercy Fisher, and folks did say
as somebody were partial to her." "Hod thy tongue about the bit thing;
don't thoo misliken me to sec a stromp!"

Resplendent in a blue cloth coat, light check trousers, a flowered
yellow silk waistcoat, and a white felt hat, Natt was flying up and down
the stairs to and from Paul's room. Paul himself had not yet been seen.
Rumor in the kitchen whispered that he had hardly taken the trouble to
dress, and had not even been at the pains to wash. Natt had more than
once protested his belief that his master meant to be married in his
shirt-sleeves. Nothing but "papers and pens and sealing-wax and things"
had he asked for.

Outside the vicarage a motley group had gathered. There was John
Proudfoot, the blacksmith, uncommonly awkward in a frock coat and a pair
of kid gloves that sat on his great hands like a clout on a pitchfork.
Dick, the miller, was there, too, with Giles Raisley, the miner; and Job
Sheepshanks (by the way of treaty of peace) stood stroking the tangled
mane of Gubblum Oglethorpe's pony. Children hung on the fence, women
gathered about the gate, dogs capered on the path. Gubblum himself had
been in the house, and now came out accompanied by Brother Peter Ward
and a huge black jug. The jug was passed round with distinct
satisfaction.

"Is the laal man ever coming?" said Gubblum, smacking his lips and
taking a swift survey of the road.

"Why, here he is at sec a skufter as'll brak' his shins!"

At the top of his speed, and breathless, clad in a long coat whose tails
almost swept the ground, grasping a fiddle in one hand and a paper in
the other, Tom o' Dint came hurrying up.

"Tha's here at last, Tom, ma man. Teem a glass into him, Peter, and
let's mak' a start."

"Ye see, I's two men, I is," said the small man, apologetically. "I had
my rounds with my letters to do first, and business afore pleasure, you
knows."

"Pleasure afore business, say I," cried Gubblum. "Never let yer wark get
the upper hand o' yer wages--them's my maxims."

Two