were much alike, in build and stature. The
squire's eye caught the familiar light-brown
overcoat usually worn by Rochford, and not a
doubt that it was his younger son ever entered
his mind. He ground his teeth together, and
his face grew white, as he vowed in his rnind to
execute a certain resolution to which he had
been striving to come. He turned, and
hurried homeward.

Suddenly, a suspicion occurred to him.

"Can the boy be in earnest? Is it possible
that, in spite of his disdainful denial, he is
willing to make that pretty girl his wife? I
will test him, at least," hought the squire.
"Youth is changeable. Yes, that's but fair."

Rochford, on returning, as he said, from the
stables, was informed that he was again required
in the library.

"Rochford," said the squire, "I spoke hotly
to you this morning, but I think you will
acknowledge that I have not been, on the whole, an
arbitrary, tyrannical, or even an irritable parent."

His son—not without a shade of compunction
for his own shortcomings—admitted that such
was the fact.

"You will have less hesitation, then,"
resumed the squire, "in owning the exact truth,
although it may not be in strict accordance with
what you have already given me to understand."

"As yet, I do not comprehend your meaning,
sir," said Rochford.

"You told me, this morning, that nothing
should induce you to present 'another Sukey
Bubbs' for my paternal blessing. By that
sarcasm you meant, I presume, that you would
not condescend to marry beneath your
station?"

"You are right, sir. That was my meaning,"
replied the young man, steadily.

"Take care, Rochford; you cannot have
forgotten our conversation of the morning, nor
my strongly expressed desire that you should
henceforth refrain from your harmful intercourse
with my cottage tenantry! Now, take care,"
said the squire, biting his lip ominously.

"I have neither forgotten your commands
nor the emphasis with which they were
delivered," replied his son, whose inclination to
retort too frequently overcame him.

"Then what do you mean by your conduct
since?" thundered the squire.

"Since when? Restrain yourself, sir, if you
can" said the young man, haughtily; "and
suffer me to understand of what I am accused.
I have done nothing contrary to your
commands."

"That is a falsehood, sir!"

Rochford started to his feet.

"A falsehood!"

"Am I not to believe my own eyes and
ears?" shouted the squire, his passion increasing
every moment. "You have disobeyed me.
Now you would deceive me. Is this the honour
of the Veres and Vavasours, of which you are
so tender? There is not a lout on my land
that does not better understand the word. You
shall repent this. Yes, before you are a day
older, you shall bitterly regret your defiance of
me. Have you anything to say?" he added,
as his son turned to leave the room.

"Not one word, sir," said the young man,
proudly. And the squire was alone.

The morning that succeeded this interview
was bright and fresh, tempting more than one
habitually early bird to be astir earlier still.
Among these were Messrs. Taffey and Apreece,
who lingered for a moment at the forge-door,
in conversation.

"That's most as passed," Mr. Taffey was
remarking; "and I'm glad it wan't more. He's
a good heart, and a wile temper—that's how I
reads him. And if he'd make up his mind for
to marry any one as 'ood ketch that wile temper,
an' let it fly out o' the winder, as my lady did
as is gone, there'd be no better man. Hullo!
Talk of the—Hem! here's the squire himself."

It was, indeed, Mr. Hurbandine who came
trotting briskly down the street, and reined up
at the forge.

"A word with you alone, Taffey."

The smith beckoned one of his swarthy
followers to take the squire's horse, and they
walked a little apart.

"Taffey," said Mr. Hurbandine, laying his
hand on the smith's sleeve, " I have made up
my mind to marry again."

The honest smith could not forbear a start,
so aptly did the remark succeed to his late
conversation with Apreece. But why come to
him? Did the squire think that he could forge
him a wife to order? His doubts were
instantly resolved.

"You have a daughter, my old friend,"
continued the squire, "fair, modest, sweet,
intelligent. She is worthy of any station. She is
seventeen; I am forty-seven. If she were willing
to sacrifice her bright youth, to partake the lot
of such a patriarch as I must appear to her,
give her me to wife. Be sure that I will deal
with your precious flower as tenderly, with
affection as observant and as confiding, as any
lowlier lover whom I may have baulked of the
prize. What say you?"

Mr. Taffey was far too much bewildered to
say anything. He could only stare at the eager
speaker, shift from one leg to the other, take off
his cap and put it on again, and wish for his
wife.

As if the squire had divined this thought, he
proposed an instant reference to that lady. To
the cottage they went. Fate willed that Mrs.
Taffey should be "out and about." So vague
an indication of her whereabouts was too much
for the impatient squire, and, Katy being in her
apartment, Mr. Taffey was prevailed on, much
against his inclination, to undertake the office
of plenipotentiary, and lay before his daughter
the singular proposal, in which he himself could
hardly yet believe.

"They did say as she should marry a lord,"
thought Mr. Taffey, as he went out, scratching
his head; "and a squire's next door to'n."

He was absent so long that the squire, finding
the suspense intolerable, was about to
disturb the conference, when the ambassador
returned, somewhat flushed and out of sorts.