After we had come out, the young man accompanied us a little distance, and then, drawing Master Simon aside into a green lane, they walked and talked together for nearly half an hour.  Master Simon, who has the usual propensity of confidants to blab every thing to the next friend they meet with, let me know that there was a love affair in question; the young fellow having been smitten with the charms of Phoebe Wilkins, the pretty niece of the housekeeper at the Hall.  Like most other love concerns, it had brought its troubles and perplexities.  Dame Tibbets had long been on intimate, gossiping terms with the housekeeper, who often visited the farm-house; but when the neighbours spoke to her of the likelihood of a match between her son and Phoebe Wilkins, “Marry come up!” she scouted the very idea.  The girl had acted as lady’s maid; and it was beneath the blood of the Tibbets’, who had lived on their own lands time out of mind, and owed reverence and thanks to nobody, to have the heir-apparent marry a servant!

These vapourings had faithfully been carried to the housekeeper’s ear, by one of their mutual go-between friends.  The old housekeeper’s blood, if not as ancient, was as quick as that of Dame Tibbets.  She had been accustomed to carry a high head at the Hall, and among the villagers; and her faded brocade rustled with indignation at the slight cast upon her alliance by the wife of a petty farmer.  She maintained that her niece had been a companion rather than a waiting-maid to the young ladies.  “Thank heavens, she was not obliged to work for her living, and was as idle as any young lady in the land; and when somebody died, would receive something that would be worth the notice of some folks, with all their ready money.”

A bitter feud had thus taken place between the two worthy dames, and the young people were forbidden to think of one another.  As to young Jack, he was too much in love to reason upon the matter; and being a little heady, and not standing in much awe of his mother, was ready to sacrifice the whole dignity of the Tibbets’ to his passion.  He had lately, however, had a violent quarrel with his mistress, in consequence of some coquetry on her part, and at present stood aloof.  The politic mother was exerting all her ingenuity to widen the accidental breach; but, as is most commonly the case, the more she meddled with this perverse inclination of the son, the stronger it grew.  In the meantime, old Ready-Money was kept completely in the dark; both parties were in awe and uncertainty as to what might be his way of taking the matter, and dreaded to awaken the sleeping lion.  Between father and son, therefore, the worthy Mrs. Tibbets was full of business, and at her wit’s end.  It is true there was no great danger of honest Ready-Money’s finding the thing out, if left to himself; for he was of a most unsuspicious temper, and by no means quick of apprehension; but there was daily risk of his attention being aroused, by the cobwebs which his indefatigable wife was continually spinning about his nose.