by no other authority than his own desire.  That execution was the last in England under the old Saxon law of Infangthef and Outfangthef.  Sir George had been summoned before Parliament for the deed; but the writ had issued against the King of the Peak, and that being only a sobriquet, was neither Sir George’s name nor his title.  So the writ was quashed, and the high-handed act of personal justice was not farther investigated by the authorities.  Should my cousin capture his daughter’s lover, there would certainly be another execution under the old Saxon law.  So you see that my friend Manners was tickling death with a straw for Dorothy’s sake.

One day Dawson approached Sir George and told him that a man sought employment in the household of Haddon Hall.  Sir George placed great confidence in his forester; so he told Dawson to employ the man if his services were needed.  The new servant proved to be a fine, strong fellow, having a great shock of carrot-colored hair and a bushy beard of rusty red.

Dawson engaged the newcomer, and assigned to him the duty of kindling the fires in the family apartments of the Hall.  The name of the new servant was Thomas Thompson, a name that Dorothy soon abbreviated to Tom-Tom.

One day she said to him, by way of opening the acquaintance, “Thomas, you and I should be good friends; we have so much in common.”

“Thank you, my lady,” responded Thomas, greatly pleased.  “I hope we shall be good friends; indeed, indeed I do, but I cannot tell wherein I am so fortunate as to have anything in common with your Ladyship.  What is it, may I ask, of which we have so much in common?”

“So much hair,” responded Dorothy, laughing.

“It were blasphemy, lady, to compare my hair with yours,” returned Thomas.  “Your hair, I make sure, is such as the blessed Virgin had.  I ask your pardon for speaking so plainly; but your words put the thought into my mind, and perhaps they gave me license to speak.”

Thomas was on his knees, placing wood upon the fire.

“Thomas,” returned Dorothy, “you need never apologize to a lady for making so fine a speech.  I declare a courtier could not have made a better one.”

“Perhaps I have lived among courtiers, lady,” said Thomas.

“I doubt not,” replied Dorothy, derisively.  “You would have me believe you are above your station.  It is the way with all new servants.  I suppose you have seen fine company and better days.”

“I have never seen finer company than now, and I have never known better days than this,” responded courtier Thomas.  Dorothy thought he was presuming on her condescension, and was about to tell him so when he continued:  “The servants at Haddon Hall are gentlefolk compared with servants at other places where I have worked, and I desire nothing more than to find favor in Sir George’s eyes.  I would do anything to achieve that end.”

Dorothy was not entirely reassured by Thomas’s closing words; but even if they were presumptuous, she admired his wit in giving them an inoffensive turn.  From that day forth the acquaintance grew between the servant and mistress until it reached the point of familiarity at which Dorothy dubbed him Tom-Tom.