“A taking of his hand and him going across sea!!  Can’t ye do no better nor that?” cried the stout farmer; “I’m not a-looking, dame.”

So then Mrs. Dodd put her hands on George’s shoulders and kissed him rustic-wise on both cheeks—­and he felt a tear on his cheek, and stammered “Good-by, Jane—­you and I were always good neighbors, but now we shan’t be neighbors for a while.  Ned, drive me away, please, and let me shut my eyes and forget that ever I was born.”

The farmer made a signal of intelligence to his wife and drove him hastily away.

They went along in silence for about two miles.  Then the farmer suddenly stopped.  George looked up, the other looked down.

“Allen’s Corner, George.  You know ‘The Grove’ is in sight from here, and after this we shan’t see it again on account of this here wood, you know.”

“Thank ye, Ned!  Yes—­one more look—­the afternoon sun lies upon it.  Oh, how different it do seem to my eyes now, by what it used when I rode by from market; but then I was going to it, now I’m going far, far from it—­never heed me, Ned—­I shall be better in a moment.  Heaven forgive me for thinking so little of the village folk as I have done.”  Then he suddenly threw up his hands.  “God bless the place and bless the folk,” he cried very loud; “God bless them all, from the oldest man in it, and that is grandfather, down to Isaac King’s little girl that was born yester-night! and may none of them ever come to this corner, and their faces turned toward the sea.”

“Doant ye, George! doant ye! doant ye! doant ye!” cried Edward Dodd in great agitation.

“Let the mare go on, Ned; she is fretting through her skin.”

“I’ll fret her,” roared the farmer, lifting his whip exactly as if it was a sword, and a cut to be made at a dragoon’s helmet.  “I’ll cut her liver out.”

“No, ye shan’t,” said George.  “Poor thing, she is thinking of her corn at the Queen’s Head in Newborough.  She isn’t going across the sea—­let her go, I’ve taken my last look and said my last word;” and he covered up his face.

Farmer Dodd drove on in silence, except that every now and then he gave an audible snivel, and whenever this occurred he always accommodated the mare with a smart cut—­reasonable!

At Newborough they found Mr. Winchester.  He drove George to the rail, and that night they slept on board the Phoenix emigrant ship.  Here they found three hundred men and women in a ship where there was room for two hundred and fifty, accommodation for eighty.

Next morning, “Farmer,” said Mr. Winchester gayly, “we have four hours before we sail—­some of these poor people will suffer great hardships between this and Sydney; suppose you and I go and buy a lot of blankets, brawn, needles, canvas, greatcoats, felt, American beef, solidified milk, Macintoshes, high-lows and thimbles.  That will rouse us up a little.”

“Thank you, sir, kindly.”