"Come, then, this way. How old are you?"

"Seventeen and a half."

"You know Latin and Greek as they know them at schools, I suppose?"

"I think I know them pretty well, sir."

"Does your father say so?"

"Why, my father is fastidious; however, he owns that he is satisfied on
the whole."

"So am I, then. Mathematics?"

"A little."

"Good."

Here the conversation dropped for some time. I had found and restrapped
the knapsack, and we were near the lodge, when Mr. Trevanion said
abruptly, "Talk, my young friend, talk; I like to hear you talk,--it
refreshes me. Nobody has talked naturally to me these last ten years."

The request was a complete damper to my ingenuous eloquence; I could not
have talked naturally now for the life of me.

"I made a mistake, I see," said my companion, good-humoredly, noticing
my embarrassment. "Here we are at the lodge. The coach will be by in
five minutes: you can spend that time in hearing the old woman praise
the Hogtons and abuse me. And hark you, sir, never care three straws for
praise or blame,--leather and prunella! Praise and blame are here!"
and he struck his hand upon his breast with almost passionate emphasis.
"Take a specimen. These Hogtons were the bane of the place,--uneducated
and miserly; their land a wilderness, their village a pig-sty. I come,
with capital and intelligence; I redeem the soil, I banish pauperism,
I civilize all around me: no merit in me, I am but a type of capital
guided by education,--a machine. And yet the old woman is not the only
one who will hint to you that the Hogtons were angels, and myself the
usual antithesis to angels. And what is more, sir, because that old
woman, who has ten shillings a week from me, sets her heart upon earning
her sixpences,--and I give her that privileged luxury,--every visitor
she talks to goes away with the idea that I, the rich Mr. Trevanion, let
her starve on what she can pick up from the sightseers. Now, does
that signify a jot? Good-by! Tell your father his old friend must see
him,--profit by his calm wisdom; his old friend is a fool sometimes,
and sad at heart. When you are settled, send me a line to St. James's
Square, to say where you are. Humph! that's enough."

Mr. Trevanion wrung my hand, and strode off.

I did not wait for the coach, but proceeded towards the turn-stile,
where the old woman (who had either seen, or scented from a distance
that tizzy of which I was the impersonation),--

"Hush