ow go up and talk to him; he wants a mother's soothing and
petting. He is a noble fellow at heart, and we shall be all proud of him
some day or other."

As he walked towards the farmhouse, Kenelm encountered Mr. Lethbridge,
who said, "I have come from Mr. Saunderson's, where I went in search of
you. There is an unexpected hitch in the negotiation for Mrs. Bawtrey's
shop. After seeing you this morning I fell in with Mr. Travers's
bailiff, and he tells me that her lease does not give her the power
to sublet without the Squire's consent; and that as the premises were
originally let on very low terms to a favoured and responsible tenant,
Mr. Travers cannot be expected to sanction the transfer of the lease
to a poor basket-marker: in fact, though he will accept Mrs. Bawtrey's
resignation, it must be in favour of an applicant whom he desires to
oblige. On hearing this, I rode over to the Park and saw Mr. Travers
himself. But he was obdurate to my pleadings. All I could get him to say
was, 'Let the stranger who interests himself in the matter come and talk
to me. I should like to see the man who thrashed that brute Tom Bowles:
if he got the better of him perhaps he may get the better of me. Bring
him with you to my harvest-supper to-morrow evening.' Now, will you
come?"

"Nay," said Kenelm, reluctantly; "but if he only asks me in order to
gratify a very vulgar curiosity, I don't think I have much chance of
serving Will Somers. What do you say?"

"The Squire is a good man of business, and, though no one can call him
unjust or grasping, still he is very little touched by sentiment; and
we must own that a sickly cripple like poor Will is not a very eligible
tenant. If, therefore, it depended only on your chance with the Squire,
I should not be very sanguine. But we have an ally in his daughter. She
is very fond of Jessie Wiles, and she has shown great kindness to Will.
In fact, a sweeter, more benevolent, sympathizing nature than that of
Cecilia Travers does not exist. She has great influence with her father,
and through her you may win him."

"I particularly dislike having anything to do with women," said Kenelm,
churlishly. "Parsons are accustomed to get round them. Surely, my dear
sir, you are more fit for that work than I am."

"Permit me humbly to doubt that proposition; one does n't get very
quickly round the women when one carries the weight of years on one's
back. But whenever you want the aid of a parson to bring yo