han the Bartram
people usually were, for he plucked off his shapeless cap of rabbit-skin
with a clownish respect.

'Tom, what is your other name,--Tom _what_, my good man?' I asked.

'Tom Brice, ma'am.'

'Haven't I seen you before, Tom Brice?' I pursued, for my curiosity was
excited, and with it much graver feelings; for there certainly _was_ a
resemblance in Tom's features to those of the postilion who had looked so
hard at me as I passed the carriage in the warren at Knowl, on the evening
of the outrage which had scared that quiet place.

''Appen you may have, ma'am,' he answered, quite coolly, looking down the
buttons of his gaiters.

'Are you a good whip--do you drive well?'

'I'll drive a plough wi' most lads hereabout,' answered Tom.

'Have you ever been to Knowl, Tom?'

Tom gaped very innocently.

'Anan,' he said.

'Here, Tom, is half-a-crown.'

He took it readily enough.

'That be very good,' said Tom, with a nod, having glanced sharply at the
coin.

I can't say whether he applied that term to the coin, or to his luck, or to
my generous self.

'Now, Tom, you'll tell me, have you ever been to Knowl?'

'Maught a' bin, ma'am, but I don't mind no sich place--no.'

As Tom spoke this with great deliberation, like a man who loves truth,
putting a strain upon his memory for its sake, he spun the silver coin two
or three times into the air and caught it, staring at it the while, with
all his might.

'Now, Tom, recollect yourself, and tell me the truth, and I'll be a friend
to you. Did you ride postilion to a carriage having a lady in it, and, I
think, several gentlemen, which came to the grounds of Knowl, when the
party had their luncheon on the grass, and there was a--a quarrel with the
gamekeepers? Try, Tom, to recollect; you shall, upon my honour, have no
trouble about it, and I'll try to serve you.'

Tom was silent, while with a vacant gape he watched the spin of his
half-crown twice, and then catching it with a smack in his hand, which he
thrust into his pocket, he said, still looking in the same direction--

'I never rid postilion in my days, ma'am. I know nout o' sich a place,
though 'appen I maught a' bin there; Knowl, ye ca't. I was ne'er out o'
Derbyshire but thrice to Warwick fair wi' horses be rail, an' twice to
York.'

'You're certain, Tom?'

'Sartin sure, ma'am.'

And Tom made another loutish salute, and cut the conference short by
turning off the path and beginning to hollo af