and pull up at a new place, lately opened,
beyond the church! After all they only did
what was natural, and went where they
would be best attended to. By-and-by I saw
a change coming on Ding Dong Will—a
very odd change. With all his foolishness, he
had been in great spirits—always laughing—
without much meaning to be sure; but, still
as I say, in great spirits. But now, I saw
that he was turning quite another way,
getting quite a down-hearted, moping kind of
manner, I couldn’t well make out. He would
come in of an evening—very rough and sulky
—and sit down before the fire looking into
the coals, and never open his mouth for
hours at a time. Then he would get up and
walk up and down, stamping and muttering
—nothing very holy, you may be sure. I
soon guessed—indeed, I heard as much in
the village—that she was drawing off a bit—
or else trying her play-acting upon him,
for she was full of those kind of tricks.
She was a very deep one, that Mary Arthur,
and it was a pity she ever came into the
place. She had a kind of up-and-down way
of treating him—one time being all smiles
and pleasantness, and next day like a lump
of ice,—pretending not to see him when he
came in. She made him know his place
—rolling her black eyes back and forward in
every direction but his; then he would come
home raging and swearing. I often wondered
what she could be at, or what was at the
bottom of it all; and, I believe, I would
never have come at the truth if I didn't
happen one day to run up against a handsome-
looking gentleman in a fisherman’s hat, just
at the door of the Joyful Heart. They told
me, inside, it was young Mr. Temple, of
Temple Court,—some ten miles off,—come
down to stop there for the fishing.

There it was! That was the secret of all!
He had been there nigh on a fortnight—
had come, mind you, for two or three
days’ fishing; but the sport was so good
he really must stay a bit longer. Quite natural
—and, you may say, quite proper! I’m thinking
there was better sport going on in the
parlour than ever he found in the river.
Her head was nigh turned with it all, and
I really believe she thought she was going
to be Mistress of Temple Court before long
—though how a young girl that had come
down to London, and had seen a bit of life,
should be so short-seeing, is more than I
can fancy. She took the notion into her
head—that was certain—and every soul in
the place could see what she was at, except
the poor blind creature at the Forge; but
even he had his eyes opened at last, for
people now began to talk and whisper, and
hope all was right up at the Joyful
Heart. I heard that the minister had gone
once to speak with her; but came out very
red and angry. No doubt she had bidden
him mind his own concerns, and not meddle
with her. As to old Joe Fenton’s looking
after his niece, he might as well have been
cut out of a block of wood.

One morning, just after breakfast, when
he—Ding Dong Will—was sitting at the fire
as usual, and not speaking a word, he turns
round quite sharp upon me and says:

“What is that young Jack doing all this
time? What do you say?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell,” I said, “unless it be
fishing.”

“Fishing!” said he, stamping down the
coals with his great shoe, “like enough!
I’ve never heard much of the fish in these
waters.”

“Still he does go out with a rod,” I said;
“there’s nothing else here to amuse him, I
suppose. But he goes on Monday.”

“Look me in the face,” says he, catching
me by the wrist, “you don’t believe that he’s
come only for that?”

“I can’t tell,” said I, “unless it is that he likes
Mary Arthur’s company. She’s a nice girl!”

“Ah!” said he, “I’ve been thinking so
some time back—the false, hollow jade!
This was at the bottom of all her tricks! But
I tell you what,” said he, snatching his
hammer, “let him look out, and not come in
my way—I give him warning——”

With this he got a bit of iron upon the
anvil and beat away at it like a wild man.
Then he flung it down into a corner and,
taking his hat, walked out with great
strides. I ran after him and took him by
the arm, for I was in a desperate fright
lest he should do something wicked. But
he put me back quietly.

“See,” said he, “I give you a caution,
don’t meddle with me. Mind——”

I didn’t try and stop him then, for he looked
savage. But I followed a little behind. He
made for the Joyful Heart; and, just as he
came under the porch, with his head down,
and never heeding where he was going to, he
ran full up against somebody, who, without
much more ado, gave him back his own, and
flung him right against the wall.

“Now then, young Hercules!” said a gay
kind of voice—I knew it for Mr. Temple’s,—
“now then, look before you, will you! Keep
the passage clear.”

I thought the other was going to run at
him straight, but he stopped himself quickly.

“Who are you speaking to in that way?”
said he, with a low kind of growl. “Is it
your horse, or your dog, or your groom?
Which? Are those manners?”

“Now, Bruin,” says the young man, “no
words. Let me pass,—I’m in a hurry.”

“Who was it taught you,” says Ding Dong
Will, with the same kind of growl, and not
moving an inch,—“who taught you to call
folk Bruins and Herculeses—eh? I declare,”
says he, colouring up quite red, and trembling
all over, “I’ve a mind to give you a lesson
myself—I will, by——”

I think he was going to spring at him this
time, but I heard steps on the sanded floor,