ir,' said John, appealing from this
insensible person to his son and heir, who now appeared, fully equipped
and ready. 'Don't you ride hard.'

'I should be puzzled to do that, I think, father,' Joe replied, casting
a disconsolate look at the animal.

'None of your impudence, sir, if you please,' retorted old John. 'What
would you ride, sir? A wild ass or zebra would be too tame for you,
wouldn't he, eh sir? You'd like to ride a roaring lion, wouldn't you,
sir, eh sir? Hold your tongue, sir.' When Mr Willet, in his differences
with his son, had exhausted all the questions that occurred to him, and
Joe had said nothing at all in answer, he generally wound up by bidding
him hold his tongue.

'And what does the boy mean,' added Mr Willet, after he had stared at
him for a little time, in a species of stupefaction, 'by cocking his
hat, to such an extent! Are you going to kill the wintner, sir?'

'No,' said Joe, tartly; 'I'm not. Now your mind's at ease, father.'

'With a milintary air, too!' said Mr Willet, surveying him from top to
toe; 'with a swaggering, fire-eating, biling-water drinking sort of way
with him! And what do you mean by pulling up the crocuses and snowdrops,
eh sir?'

'It's only a little nosegay,' said Joe, reddening. 'There's no harm in
that, I hope?'

'You're a boy of business, you are, sir!' said Mr Willet, disdainfully,
'to go supposing that wintners care for nosegays.'

'I don't suppose anything of the kind,' returned Joe. 'Let them keep
their red noses for bottles and tankards. These are going to Mr Varden's
house.'

'And do you suppose HE minds such things as crocuses?' demanded John.

'I don't know, and to say the truth, I don't care,' said Joe. 'Come,
father, give me the money, and in the name of patience let me go.'

'There it is, sir,' replied John; 'and take care of it; and mind you
don't make too much haste back, but give the mare a long rest.--Do you
mind?'

'Ay, I mind,' returned Joe. 'She'll need it, Heaven knows.'

'And don't you score up too much at the Black Lion,' said John. 'Mind
that too.'

'Then why don't you let me have some money of my own?' retorted Joe,
sorrowfully; 'why don't you, father? What do you send me into London
for, giving me only the right to call for my dinner at the Black Lion,
which you're to pay for next time you go, as if I was not to be trusted
with a few shillings? Why do you use me like this? It's not right of
you. You can't expect me to be quiet