side of that ugly face of thine.”  With that the fellow skipped out of our Joe’s way gayly sharp, and Joe stepped quietly into the room.

There the little old gentleman was sitting at a table writing,—­gray hair, spectacles, white neck-cloth, black clothes,—­just as if he had never either doffed or donned himself since he went away.  But before Joe could put out his hand, or say a civil word to him, he glinted up at Joe through his spectacles very fierce like, and grunted out something about wondering how Joe durst show his face again.  Well, that put the cap on all for poor Joe.  He had thought over what father said, and how he said it, on his road down till he found himself getting rather mad about it; and the way they all snorted and laughed when he came to Skeal-Hill made him madder; and that bedgown fellow, with his “Joe, sir,” made him madder than ever; but when the old jolly-jist—­that he thought would be so fain to see him, if it was only for the sake of their sprogue on the fells together—­when he wondered “how Joe durst show his face there,” it set Joe rantin’ mad, and he did make a burst.

At this point the squire was laughing so noisily that Sophia had to stop; and his hearty ha, ha, ha! was so contagious, that Harry and Julius and Charlotte, and even Mrs. Sandal, echoed it in a variety of merry peals.  Sophia was calmer.  She sat by the lamp, pleasantly conscious of the amusement she was giving; and, considering that she had already laughed the circumstance out in her room, quite as well entertained as any of the party.  In a few minutes the squire recovered himself.  “Let us have the rest now, Sophia.  I’d have given a gold guinea to have heard Joe’s ‘burst.’”

“Show my face?” said Joe; “and what should I show, then?  If it comes to showing faces, I’ve a better face to show than ever belonged to one of your breed, if the rest of them are aught like the sample they have sent us.  But if you must know,” said Joe, “I come of a stock that never would be frightened to show their face to a king, let alone an old noodles that calls himself a jolly-jist.  And I defy the face of clay,” said Joe, “to show that any of us ever did aught he need to be ashamed of, wherever we show our faces.  Dare to show my face, eh?” said Joe again, “My song! but this is a bonnie welcome to give a fellow that has come so far to see you such a hot morning.”  Joe said a deal more of the same make; and all the time he was saying it, the old man laid himself back in his great chair, and kept twiddling his thumbs, and glancing up at Joe with a half-smirk on his face, as if he had got something very funny before him.

“Joe is like all these shepherd lads,” said the squire, “as independent as never was.  They are a manly race, but the Bulteels all come of a good kind.”

Julius laughed scornfully, but the squire took him up very short.  “You need not laugh, nephew.  It is as I say.  The Bulteels are as good stock as the Sandals; a fine old family, and, like the Sandals, at home here when the Conqueror came.  Joe would do the right thing I’ll be bound.  Let us hear if he didn’t, Sophia.”