a sent you
a message, though I forgot all about it till now. She wants to thank
you herself for what you did in the field."

"That's all nonsense, my lord."

"Very well; you can tell her so. You may take my word for this,
too,--my sister hates Crosbie quite as much as you do. I think she'd
'pitch into him,' as you call it, herself, if she knew how. You come
down to Guestwick for the Christmas, and then go over to Allington
and tell them all plainly what you mean."

"I couldn't say a word to her now."

"Say it to the squire, then. Go to him, and tell him what you
mean,--holding your head up like a man. Don't talk to me about
swells. The man who means honestly is the best swell I know. He's
the only swell I recognise. Go to old Dale, and say you come from
me,--from Guestwick Manor. Tell him that if he'll put a little
stick under the pot to make it boil, I'll put a bigger one. He'll
understand what that means."

"Oh, no, my lord."

"But I say, oh, yes;" and the earl, who was now standing on the rug
before the fire, dug his hands deep down into his trousers' pockets.
"I'm very fond of that girl, and would do much for her. You ask Lady
Julia if I didn't say so to her before I ever knew of your casting a
sheep's-eye that way. And I've a sneaking kindness for you too,
Master Johnny. Lord bless you, I knew your father as well as I ever
knew any man; and to tell the truth, I believe I helped to ruin him.
He held land of me, you know, and there can't be any doubt that he
did ruin himself. He knew no more about a beast when he'd done,
than--than--than that waiter. If he'd gone on to this day he wouldn't
have been any wiser."

Johnny sat silent, with his eyes full of tears. What was he to say to
his friend?

"You come down with me," continued the earl, "and you'll find we'll
make it all straight. I daresay you're right about not speaking to
the girl just at present. But tell everything to the uncle, and then
to the mother. And, above all things, never think that you're not
good enough yourself. A man should never think that. My belief is
that in life people will take you very much at your own reckoning. If
you are made of dirt, like that fellow Crosbie, you'll be found out
at last, no doubt. But then I don't think you are made of dirt."

"I hope not."

"And so do I. You can come down, I suppose, with me the day after
to-morrow?"

"I'm afraid not. I have had all my leave."

"Shall I write to old Buffle, and ask it