many miles off!"

"I know it is, Betty; and mind you lock up the house every evening at
six o'clock, and never allow any one across the door-step."

Betty was too much astonished to make any answer, she only smoothed down
her apron very vigorously, and gazed at her master as if he were
slightly demented. Then a sudden idea occurred to her, and she gasped
out, "Then, master, you'll want your best shirts put up; and I must see
to it, and get the ruffles done up quick."

Farmer Shipton gave her no answer, but turned round and left the room.

"Sure it's some mistake," said old Betty musingly, as she put her irons
in the fire; "he'll change again before to-morrow."

But Mr. Shipton did not change; and the next morning early his gig was
at the door, his old-fashioned portmanteau was put into it, and
presently the old man himself got in and drove off as fast as the old
mare was disposed to go. This part of the journey was all very well, and
the farmer felt in better spirits than usual; the sky was bright and
clear above him, and the gig went on smoothly enough over the well-made
road to the station. But the train was an invention which Mr. Shipton
utterly despised, and when he found himself seated in the railway
carriage, and in quicker motion than he had ever experienced before, he
felt inclined to stop at the first station and go back to Dilbury at a
more reasonable pace. However, he had a motive for going to London, and
so he resisted his inclination, and was whirled on until he arrived at
the great metropolis. After a most confusing search for his portmanteau,
he discovered it being whisked off by another man; but having succeeded
at last in obtaining possession of it, and taking his place in an
omnibus, he was soon rattling away over the paved streets in the
direction of Islington. The omnibus deposited him at the corner of a
street, and there he found a boy who was willing to carry his luggage to
a small and retired row of houses which was his destination.

"Which house?" said the lad when they had reached Crown Row. Farmer
Shipton stopped, drew his spectacles from out of their hiding-place
under his waistcoat, placed them on his nose, and then felt in his
pocket for a leather pocket-book, which generally lived there. When he
had opened it, he turned over the papers one by one--receipts for money,
farm accounts, bills, &c.--until he came to two letters tied together.
These he drew out. One of them was written in a t