“New-fashioned!” cried the Parson almost indignantly, for he had a great disdain of new fashions.  “They are as old as Christianity; nay, as old as Paradise, which you will observe is derived from a Greek, or rather a Persian word, and means something more than a ‘garden,’ corresponding (pursued the Parson rather pedantically) with the Latin vivarium—­viz. grove or park full of innocent dumb creatures.  Depend on it, donkeys were allowed to eat thistles there.”

“Very possibly,” said the Squire drily.  “But Hazeldean, though a very pretty village, is not Paradise.  The stocks shall be mended to-morrow day, and the pound too—­and the next donkey found trespassing shall go into it, as sure as my name is Hazeldean.”

“Then,” said the Parson gravely, “I can only hope that the next parish may not follow your example; or that you and I may never be caught straying!”

* * * * *

CHAPTER III.

Parson Dale and Squire Hazeldean parted company; the latter to inspect his sheep, the former to visit some of his parishioners, including Lenny Fairfield, whom the donkey had defrauded of his apple.

Lenny Fairfield was sure to be in the way, for his mother rented a few acres of grass land from the Squire, and it was now hay-time.  And Leonard, commonly called Lenny, was an only son, and his mother a widow.  The cottage stood apart, and somewhat remote, in one of the many nooks of the long green village lane.  And a thoroughly English cottage it was—­three centuries old at least; with walls of rubble let into oak frames, and duly whitewashed every summer, a thatched roof, small panes of glass, and an old doorway raised from the ground by two steps.  There was about this little dwelling all the homely rustic elegance which peasant life admits of:  a honeysuckle was trained over the door; a few flower-pots were placed on the window-sills; the small plot of ground in front of the house was kept with great neatness, and even taste; some large rough stones on either side the little path having been formed into a sort of rock-work, with creepers that were now in flower; and the potatoe ground was screened from the eye by sweet peas and lupine.  Simple elegance all this, it is true; but how well it speaks for peasant and landlord, when you see that the peasant is fond of his home, and has some spare time and heart to bestow upon mere embellishment.  Such a peasant is sure to be a bad customer to the ale-house, and a safe neighbor to the Squire’s preserves.  All honor and praise to him, except a small tax upon both, which is due to the landlord!

Such sights were as pleasant to the Parson as the most beautiful landscapes of Italy can be to the dilettante.  He paused a moment at the wicket to look around him, and distended his nostrils voluptuously to inhale the smell of the sweet peas, mixed with that of the new-mown hay in the fields behind, which a slight breeze bore to him.  He then moved on, carefully scraped his shoes, clean and well polished as they were—­for Mr. Dale was rather a beau in his own clerical way—­on the scraper without the door, and lifted the latch.