'air ye goin' to speak?" He put out his fingers to seize the gypsy's aching arm. "Wheer, wheer?" Culvati winced away. "Down the rocks, in coorse," he said sulkily. "What's it matter to me, damyer! Mr. Chilcutt flamed into anger. "E-tarnal snakes!" he cried, "show me an' Flamenker the way theer to onct, 'relse I'll—” He seized Culvati by the neck and forced him along; and presently across a mile of heathery upland they came to the edge of Stoniton Dale; from the top of a slanting footpath looked down on the chimneys of The Brazen Serpent; and heard from the stables the stamp of the three waiting steeds. "S'elp me, I'm as good as a Reverend now," Mr. Jarvey remarked to himself as he breakfasted in the Rectory that morning. "Th' ole chap knows what's due to the Lor. Got a knowledgeable servant wench, th' ole chap has, what understands feedin' a man hup, proper. Good-lookin' wench, too-knows a waist an' a stockin', th' ole fox do. Here, Sally, Betty, Maryann-come 'ere a bit, my dear. Werry good spread, my dear-does yer credit. Goin' to take the Reverend some, are yer? Quite right, my dear. Bit o' cold meat, chunk o' white loaf, pot o' small-right. Give a man a buss fust, wonjer? Wotjer say to a King's runner for a husband, my dear? "Get's drunk last night on his Reverend's sperrits," Mr. Jarvey went on when alone again; "oversleeps myself in his Reverend's bed, sits in his Reverend's arm-cheer, eats his wittles, drinks his yale, an' kisses his fat wench. Might be his Reverend myself." He bent his red waistcoat over the table and cut another slice of boiled beef. "It's pretty late for a hearly wum, as the sayin' is." He eyed the sun, and pulled out a globular pocket timepiece. "Ten o'clock, s'elp me! An' them lazy 'ounds in the lockup not a-stirrin' yet! Wheer's Bone, wheer's that petty constable?" He went to the window to look. Who's them ridin' along the road? S'elp me, it's the Colonial an' the nigger! Hand the petticut, too -blow me if it isn't the petticut! Bone's been an' let 'em slip!" And Mr. Jarvey rushed to the Rectory stables. The Colonial, the nigger, and the petticoat were no longer in sight when Mr. Jarvey turned out on the highway with the horses. They had taken the road to Shope, he thought, as he galloped in the other direction, down the dale towards the Crossways, his partner's nag clattering along beside his own. "Let 'em go, have yer, yer fool!" he shouted as he flashed past the host of The Brazen Serpent, who was standing in the porch with the money of the reckoning still in his hand. But before mine host could find courage to answer, Mr. Jarvey was down at the Crossways and hammering at the lock-up door. "'Ere, wake up, wotcher doin', yer fool! Yer've missed 'em, they're ridin' hoff gay!" The door was opened slowly, and a sleepy face appeared. "Well, have you took 'em?" inquired "Took 'em! Took the elephant!' Mr. Jarvey Mr. Bone. was frothing with rage. "Me took 'em!" he re peated; the suggestion exasperated him beyond bounds. "Darm, an' darm, an' DARM!" say? Swearifying again, Jarvey? What's the Book The Book says watch and pray. I watched and prayed pretty nigh all the night, Jarvey-praying for you!" "More prayin' than watchin', then they must ha' got past under yer werry nose!" "I says to the petty constable-here! come out, you poor specimen, come out!"-and Mr. Naboth Quince was dragged into view-" I says to this parish constable, 'It's your turn to watch a bit, and pray if you can'. Does he watch and pray; does he waken me up when the culprits appears? Not he; he drops off again; he lets 'em get past; he " "Blow talkin'!" the little runner cried. "They're off, but we'll ketch 'em. Up with yer, an' after 'em quick. We'll ketch 'em yet!"—and in a flurry the runners mounted, and set off up the gorge towards Shope. 261 CHAPTER XXV. TELLS OF A FISH UNCAUGHT. Angling may be said to be so like the mathematics that it can never be fully learnt. -The Compleat Angler. O, flesh! flesh! how art thou fishified. -Romeo and Juliet, ii., 4. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it. -The Song of Solomon viii. 7. Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence, returning, to regain Love once possessed. -Samson Agonistes. With lenient arts, extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death. -Prologue to the Satires. Fantastic as a woman's mood, -The Lady of the Lake, v., 30. And constancy lives in realms above, O Sophonisba! Sophonisba O! -Christabel, ii. -Sophonisba, iii., 2. 262 XXV. MATT SCARGIL dangled his legs from the floor of the gallery in front of the silk-mill; his feet hung over the leat of water that ran from the broken sluice. A brace of fish were stiffening on the planks beside him. He was angling, with old pack-threads knotted into a line; his rod was a stripped branch, his hook a bent pin, his bait a worm. While Jeruel and Flamenca were adventuring for the horses, the yeoman of Kennel Farm was killing time and perch. A twisted trickle of water dripped from the upper joint of the sluice into the brook-like leat that led from the mill-tail; the water fell with a steady plopplop that sounded cool in the waxing forenoon heat; the surface of the leat danced and bubbled under the little fall, shaking the angler's floatless line. Elsewhere the stream moved quietly and smoothly along a willow-shaded channel that seemed its self-cut bed and not the work of hands. Up this long, strait channel, athwart the shafts of sunlight which banded the shadowed air, a kingfisher came winging so close to the smooth surface that the dun and azure plumage was mirrored in the water. "As pretty as Flamenca," the yeoman thought. A moment the shy bird rested on a low bough; then, as the angler lifted his line a |