s, that William is wonderfully steady for so young a
man, and his master is so well pleased with him, that he is now foreman
in his great concern. You must pardon a little nonsense in a country
youth, thrown suddenly into a fine shop in the gayest part of London,
and with his godfather's legacy coming unexpectedly upon him, and making
him too rich for a journeyman tradesman. But he's coming to see us now.
He would have come six months ago, as soon as he got this money, if his
master could have spared him; and he'll be wiser before he goes back to
London."

"Not he. Hang; Lunnon! Why did he go to Lunnon at all? Why could not he
stop at Rutherford like his father and his father's father, and see to
the farm? What business had he in a great shop?--a man-mercer's they
call it What call had he to Lunnon, I say? Tell me that, Miss Susan.

"Why, dear father, you know very well that when Master George Arnot was
so unluckily obstinate about the affair of the water-course, and would
go to law with you, and swore that instead of marrying William, poor
Mary should be married to the rich maltster old Jacob Giles, William,
who had loved Mary ever since they were children together, could not
bear to stay in the country, and went off to my uncle, forbidding me
ever to mention her name in a letter; and,--" "Well! well!" rejoined the
father, somewhat softened, "but he need not have turned puppy and
coxcomb because he was crossed in love. Pshaw!" added the good farmer,
giving a mighty tug with his paddle at a tough mullein which happened to
stand in his way, "I was crossed in love myself, in my young days,
but I did not run off and turn tailor. I made up plump to another
wench--your poor mother, Susan, that's dead and gone--and carried her
off like a man; married her in a month, girl; and that's what Will
should have done. I'm afear'd we shall find him a sad jackanapes. Jem
Hathaway, the gauger, told me last market-day that he saw him one Sunday
in the what-dye-call't--the Park there, covered with rings, and gold
chains, and fine velvets--all green and gold, like our great peacock.
Well! we shall soon see. He comes to-night, you say? 'Tis not above six
o'clock by the sun, and the Wantage coach don't come in till seven. Even
if they lend him a horse and cart at the Nag's Head, he can't be here
these two hours. So I shall just see the ten acre field cleared, and be
home time enough to shake him by the hand if he comes like a man, or
to kic