on of the government, and about the nobs
calling the people, 'A swinish multitude:'
so, when he came back to Crookston Hall
there were terrible high words between
him and his father. They got from politics
to matrimony; till at last, Mr. George, in his
passion, told the old gent that when he
married, he would marry to please himself,
and that it didn't please him to marry Miss
Stonard. The old man burst out of the
room in a tremendous rage, nearly broke a
blood-vessel in putting on his boots, and
galloped over to the Abbey, like split.—Shake
her bridle, and wake her up a bit, sir! She
is getting lazy.—As for Mr. George, he went
to London on parliament business, and I
went with him."

"But we are still a long way from the
tree."

"Not so far as you think," continued Mr.
Hockle. "To the old Squire's astonishment,
things were taken very coolly at Stonard
Abbey; and it was settled, after a while, that
George should be cut by his father; and
that the young lady—nothing loth, they
used to say—should take up with t'other
brother. They were better matched; for
their sly but determined tempers suited one
another; and she and Mr. George, with
his straightforward honest disposition, would
never have run in a curricle together.
However, before the wedding-day, and just
before Mr. George went abroad, there was
a reconciliation, and he came home, and
brought me with him. Then came the
wonderful preparations. All of us had been up
for two nights; and, the evening before the
wedding, I was helping to put up the last
stable tent in the dingle, when one of the
men asked me to get into the oak I showed
you, with a line that was to steady the centre
tent-pole. I was to hold it there till he told
me to fasten it; but I was so dead beat, that
I hardly had strength. However, I scrambled
up by the garden seat, and perched myself
comfortably upon the lowermost branch,
with my back against the trunk. If you'll
believe me, I fell fast asleep in no time, with
the line in my hand.

"I don't know whether I was left there
for a lark, or whether I was forgot; but
it was staring moonlight when I woke. I
heard voices close under me: one was my
master's. There he sat upon the garden-seat
that went round the trunk of the tree, pressing
something taper and white in his arm;
and there was an uncommon pretty little
hand clasping his shoulder. I can remember
every word they spoke as well as if I was
hearing them now."

"You had reason to remember, perhaps," I
remarked.

"You'll see. The little hand pressed itself
tighter and tighter, and the little arm trembled
a good deal. The full moon made it
light as day. I could see tears falling
upon Mr. George's shoulder. He asked
if she was so frightened and sad on
account of—, and he whispered something
in her ear; but she turned away, letting
the tears drop into her lap, and said No; she
could afford to be blamed and gossiped
about, and even persecuted, without a murmur;
for she felt within her that both
of them had no guilt to answer for. No; it
was not that. She was frightened about him;
and she looked piteously into Mr. George's face.
He tried to laugh her out of her fears, and
spoke of everything coming right by his next
birth-day, the ninth of June, when, please God
he should return from Italy. After a minute
or two, she said she dreaded what might
happen between then, and that day. She
knew what the bride was: she knew that she
would do anything for spite; and it was not
in her nature to forgive him for refusing to
marry her. 'Then,' and she trembled worse
than ever, 'when she finds out who her rival is,
she will not rest till she has ruined us
both.' Mr. George said he thought it was
his brother who would be most to be feared,
when he and all the world came to know—
here he whispered again, and she looked
down into her lap once more; but there were
no tears this time. He kissed her; and she,
coaxing and caressing him, entreated him
not to go to any more dangerous political
meetings. She was proud of his fame, and
loved him with all her heart because he
manfully helped in the cause of the poor man;
but her mother had told her, over and over
again, that Mr. Calder, in his cold-hearted
way, was trying to make the old Squire
believe that he would come to be hanged,
and that he was already an outcast from
what they called society. For the old Squire
often dropped in at Corner Cottage to have a
gossip with her mother— when she was able
to sit up.

"I had been in the tree for so many
hours, that at last I got cramped with the
cold, and tried to alter my position. Forgetting
I had the cord in my hand, I let the end of
it fall. It came right down upon Mr. George's
hat. They both started up; he still holding
the young lady round the waist, to protect
her. Of course I got down.

" 'You rascal, you have been listening! ' he
said.

"I owned I had.

"'Who set you to be a spy upon me? '
he halloed out. 'Don't you eat my bread?
Who set you to do this?'  He was very
quick-tempered, Mr. George was.

"I told him nobody had set me on. I
told him how it happened. I told him I
could not help hearing what I had heard; but
I told him, too, that he had been a good master
to me, and that all that I could understand of
what I had heard I would solemnly swear
should never pass my lips to any living soul.
I meant what I said, and said it as if I
meant it. The young lady looked at me all
the time, and took my part and whispered,