o, which
is not likely--perceived Mrs. Somers standing by him, took from her
the basket, which was really very pretty and elegant, subdivided
into various compartments for the implements in use among ladies, and
bestowed on it a well-merited eulogium.

"The young lady means to finish it herself with ribbons, and line it
with satin," said Mrs. Somers, proudly.

"The ribbons will not be amiss, sir?" said Will, interrogatively.

"Not at all. Your natural sense of the fitness of things tells you
that ribbons go well with straw and light straw-like work such as this;
though you would not put ribbons on those rude hampers and game-baskets
in the corner. Like to like; a stout cord goes suitably with them: just
as a poet who understands his art employs pretty expressions for poems
intended to be pretty and suit a fashionable drawing-room, and carefully
shuns them to substitute a simple cord for poems intended to be strong
and travel far, despite of rough usage by the way. But you really
ought to make much more money by this fancy-work than you could as a
day-labourer."

Will sighed. "Not in this neighbourhood, sir; I might in a town."

"Why not move to a town, then?"

The young man coloured, and shook his head.

Kenelm turned appealingly to Mrs. Somers. "I'll be willing to go
wherever it would be best for my boy, sir. But--" and here she checked
herself, and a tear trickled silently down her cheeks.

Will resumed, in a more cheerful tone, "I am getting a little known
now, and work will come if one waits for it." Kenelm did not deem it
courteous or discreet to intrude further on Will's confidence in the
first interview; and he began to feel, more than he had done at first,
not only the dull pain of the bruises he had received in the recent
combat, but also somewhat more than the weariness which follows long
summer-day's work in the open air. He therefore, rather abruptly, now
took his leave, saying that he should be very glad of a few specimens of
Will's ingenuity and skill, and would call or write to give directions
about them.

Just as he came in sight of Tom Bowles's house on his way back to Mr.
Saunderson's, Kenelm saw a man mounting a pony that stood tied up at the
gate, and exchanging a few words with a respectable-looking woman
before he rode on. He was passing by Kenelm without notice, when that
philosophical vagrant stopped him, saying, "If I am not mistaken, sir,
you are the doctor. There is not much the mat