but"—and here Mr. Moule sunk his voice
to a whisper to give due horror to his
revelation—"that he's an out-and-out Rad!"

"You don't say that!" said Farmer
Adams, pushing away his chair with a
creak, and gazing with terror at the
speaker.

"They du!" said Mr. Moule, delighted
and astonished to find himself of so much
importance.

"That's a "bad job!" said Mr. Croke,
reflectively; " they carry a main lot o' weight
in this borough do they Bokenhams! a
main lot of weight!" And Mr. Croke
shook his head with great solemnity.

"Don't be down-hearted, Mr. Croke!"
said Mr. Teesdale, who had been a silent
and an amused spectator of this scene.
"No doubt Tommy Bokenham, who they
say is a clever chap, and who'll be well
backed by his father's banking account, is
a formidable opponent. But I much doubt
if our side won't be able to bring forward
some one with as good a head on his
shoulders and as much brass in his
pockets!"

"Where's he to be found, Muster Teesdale?
Sir George won't stand, and it
would welly nigh break any one else's back
in the neighbr'ood, 'less it were young
Rideout, and all his money goes in horse-
racin'!"

"What should you say," said Mr. Teesdale,
becoming very much swollen with
importance " what should you say to Mr.
Creswell?"

"Muster Creswell! What, Squire Creswell,
your master, Muster Teesdale?"
exclaimed Croke, completely astounded.

"My employer—Squire Creswell, my
employer!" said Mr. Teesdale, making a
mental note to refuse Farmer Croke the
very next request he made, no matter what
it might be.

"Are you in ayrnest, Muster Teesdale?"
asked Spalding. " Is th' old squire comin'
forward for Parlyment?"

"He is, indeed, Mr. Spalding," replied
Teesdale; " and he'll make the Lion his
head-quarters, won't he, Mr. Tilley?" he
said to the old landlord, who had just
entered bearing a steaming bowl of punch.

"I hope so, sir I hope so!" said the
old man, in his cheery voice. " The Lion
always was the Blue house. I've seen Sir
George Neal, quite dead beat wi' fatigue
and hoarse wi' hollerin', held up at that
window by Squire Armstrong on one side,
and Charley Rea, him as left here and
went away to Chiney or some furrin' part,
on the other, and screechin' for cheers and
Kentish fires and Lord knows what, to the
mob outside! I ha' got the blue banner
somewhere now, that Miss Good, as was
barmaid here afore Miss Parkhurst came,
'broidered herself for Sir George at last
election."

"Well, there'll be no banners or
anything of that kind now, Tilley; that's
against the law, that is, but there'll be
plenty of fun for all that, and plenty of
fighting for the matter of that, for Mr.
Creswell means to win!"

"He really du?" asked Farmer Croke,
once more in high spirits.

"He really does! And, what's more, I
may tell you, gentlemen, as it's no longer
any secret, that Mr. Creswell' s candidature
is approved by her Majesty's Government,
by Sir George Neal, and by the principal
county gentlemen, so that there's no likelihood
of any split in the Conservative camp!
And as for young Mr. Bokenham, of whom
our friend Moule here has told us so much,
well even if he is all that our friend
Moule has made him out we must try
and beat him even then!"

Poor Mr. Moule! it was lucky he had
enjoyed his temporary notoriety, for the
sarcasm of the agent speedily relegated him
to his old post of butt and bolt.

The household at Woolgreaves seemed to
get on very well during the absence of its
legitimate heads. The young ladies rather
gloried in their feeling of independence, in
the freedom from the necessity of having to
consult any one or to exercise the smallest
system of restraint, and they took pleasure
in sitting with Mrs. Ashurst and ministering
to her small wants. They had always
had a kindly feeling towards the old lady,
and this had been increased by her helplessness
and by her evident unconsciousness of
the manner in which the world was slipping
away from her. There is something sad in
witnessing the struggle for resignation with
which a person, smitten with mortal disease,
and conscious of their fate, strives to give
up all worldly hopes and cares, and to wean
their thoughts and aspirations from those
things on which they have hitherto been
bent; but there is something infinitely more
sad in watching the sick-bed of one who is
all unconscious of the fiat that has gone
forth, who knows, indeed, that her strength
is not what it was, but who has no idea
that the hand is already uplifted and the
dart already poised. Mrs. Ashurst was in
this last-named condition; she had gradually