“Yes, madam!  I’ve never been there, and always had a wish to go; and I think if I don’t go soon, I mayn’t go at all; so as soon as the hay is got in I shall go, before harvest time.”

We were so much astonished that we had no commissions.

Just as he was going out of the room, he turned back, with his favourite exclamation —

“God bless my soul, madam! but I nearly forgot half my errand.  Here are the poems for you you admired so much the other evening at my house.”  He tugged away at a parcel in his coat-pocket.  “Good-bye, miss,” said he; “good-bye, Matty! take care of yourself.”  And he was gone.

But he had given her a book, and he had called her Matty, just as he used to do thirty years to.

“I wish he would not go to Paris,” said Miss Matilda anxiously.  “I don’t believe frogs will agree with him; he used to have to be very careful what he ate, which was curious in so strong-looking a young man.”

Soon after this I took my leave, giving many an injunction to Martha to look after her mistress, and to let me know if she thought that Miss Matilda was not so well; in which case I would volunteer a visit to my old friend, without noticing Martha’s intelligence to her.

Accordingly I received a line or two from Martha every now and then; and, about November I had a note to say her mistress was “very low and sadly off her food”; and the account made me so uneasy that, although Martha did not decidedly summon me, I packed up my things and went.

I received a warm welcome, in spite of the little flurry produced by my impromptu visit, for I had only been able to give a day’s notice.  Miss Matilda looked miserably ill; and I prepared to comfort and cosset her.

I went down to have a private talk with Martha.

“How long has your mistress been so poorly?” I asked, as I stood by the kitchen fire.

“Well!  I think its better than a fortnight; it is, I know; it was one Tuesday, after Miss Pole had been, that she went into this moping way.  I thought she was tired, and it would go off with a night’s rest; but no! she has gone on and on ever since, till I thought it my duty to write to you, ma’am.”

“You did quite right, Martha.  It is a comfort to think she has so faithful a servant about her.  And I hope you find your place comfortable?”

“Well, ma’am, missus is very kind, and there’s plenty to eat and drink, and no more work but what I can do easily—­but—­” Martha hesitated.

“But what, Martha?”

“Why, it seems so hard of missus not to let me have any followers; there’s such lots of young fellows in the town; and many a one has as much as offered to keep company with me; and I may never be in such a likely place again, and it’s like wasting an opportunity.  Many a girl as I know would have ’em unbeknownst to missus; but I’ve given my word, and I’ll stick to it; or else this is just the house for missus never to be the