ons, had now
another enemy in the field, and one who, if she could not undo her work,
could punish her. By the afternoon coach, Mrs. Mel, accompanied by
Dandy her squire, was journeying to Fallow field, bent upon things. The
faithful squire was kept by her side rather as a security for others
than for, his particular services. Dandy's arms were crossed, and his
countenance was gloomy. He had been promised a holiday that afternoon to
give his mistress, Sally, Kilne's cook, an airing, and Dandy knew in his
soul that Sally, when she once made up her mind to an excursion, would
go, and would not go alone, and that her very force of will endangered
her constancy. He had begged humbly to be allowed to stay, but Mrs.
Mel could not trust him. She ought to have told him so, perhaps.
Explanations were not approved of by this well-intended despot, and
however beneficial her resolves might turn out for all parties, it was
natural that in the interim the children of her rule should revolt, and
Dandy, picturing his Sally flaunting on the arm of some accursed low
marine, haply, kicked against Mrs. Mel's sovereignty, though all that he
did was to shoot out his fist from time to time, and grunt through his
set teeth: 'Iron!' to express the character of her awful rule.

Mrs. Mel alighted at the Dolphin, the landlady of which was a Mrs.
Hawkshaw, a rival of Mrs. Sockley of the Green Dragon. She was welcomed
by Mrs. Hawkshaw with considerable respect. The great Mel had sometimes
slept at the Dolphin.

'Ah, that black!' she sighed, indicating Mrs. Mel's dress and the story
it told.

'I can't give you his room, my dear Mrs. Harrington, wishing I could!
I'm sorry to say it's occupied, for all I ought to be glad, I dare say,
for he's an old gentleman who does you a good turn, if you study him.
But there! I'd rather have had poor dear Mr. Harrington in my best bed
than old or young--Princes or nobodies, I would--he was that grand and
pleasant.'

Mrs. Mel had her tea in Mrs. Hawkshaw's parlour, and was entertained
about her husband up to the hour of supper, when a short step and a
querulous voice were heard in the passage, and an old gentleman appeared
before them.

'Who's to carry up my trunk, ma'am? No man here?'

Mrs. Hawkshaw bustled out and tried to lay her hand on a man. Failing to
find the growth spontaneous, she returned and begged the old gentleman
to wait a few moments and the trunk would be sent up.

'Parcel o' women!' was hi