d his grandson.

"Samson wants me to cut a new bridle-path through from the larches at
the top of the hill down to Crutchley Bottom; but I don't think I'll
have it done. Tell Jacob to let us have the nags; I'll ride the gray
pony. And ask your mother if she'll ride with us."

It was the manner of Sir Peregrine to forgive altogether when he did
forgive; and to commence his forgiveness in all its integrity from
the first moment of the pardon. There was nothing he disliked so
much as being on bad terms with those around him, and with none more
so than with his grandson. Peregrine well knew how to make himself
pleasant to the old man, and when duly encouraged would always do so.
And thus the family party, as they rode on this occasion through the
woods of The Cleeve, discussed oaks and larches, beech and birches,
as though there were no such animal as a rat in existence, and no
such place known as Cowcross Street.

"Well, Perry, as you and Samson are both of one mind, I suppose the
path must be made," said Sir Peregrine, as he got off his horse at
the entrance of the stable-yard, and prepared to give his feeble aid
to Mrs. Orme.

Shortly after this the following note was brought up to The Cleeve by
a messenger from Orley Farm:--

MY DEAR SIR PEREGRINE,

If you are quite disengaged at twelve o'clock to-morrow, I
will walk over to The Cleeve at that hour. Or if it would
suit you better to call here as you are riding, I would
remain within till you come. I want your kind advice on a
certain matter.

Most sincerely yours,

MARY MASON.

Thursday.

Lady Mason, when she wrote this note, was well aware that it would
not be necessary for her to go to The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine's
courtesy would not permit him to impose any trouble on a lady when
the alternative of taking that trouble on himself was given to him.
Moreover, he liked to have some object for his daily ride; he liked
to be consulted "on certain matters;" and he especially liked being
so consulted by Lady Mason. So he sent word back that he would be at
the farm at twelve on the following day, and exactly at that hour his
gray pony or cob might have been seen slowly walking up the avenue to
the farm-house.

The Cleeve was not distant from Orley Farm more than two miles by
the nearest walking-path, although it could not be driven much under
five. With any sort of carriage one was obliged to come from The
Cleeve House down to the