might prepare your mother's mind for that event. Such household
trifles are within her special province; and she would be much put out
if a Mrs. Chillingly dropped on her unawares.

This subject, however, is too serious to admit of a jest even between
two persons who understand, so well as you and I do, the secret cipher
by which each other's outward style of jest is to be gravely interpreted
into the irony which says one thing and means another. My dear boy, you
are very young; you are wandering about in a very strange manner, and
may, no doubt, meet with many a pretty face by the way, with which you
may fancy that you fall in love. You cannot think me a barbarous, tyrant
if I ask you to promise me, on your honour, that you will not propose
to any young lady before you come first to me and submit the case to my
examination and approval. You know me too well to suppose that I should
unreasonably withhold my consent if convinced that your happiness was
at stake. But while what a young man may fancy to be love is often a
trivial incident in his life, marriage is the greatest event in it;
if on one side it may involve his happiness, on the other side it
may insure his misery. Dearest, best, and oddest of sons, give me the
promise I ask, and you will free my breast from a terribly anxious
thought which now sits on it like a nightmare.

Your recommendation of a basket-maker comes opportunely. All such
matters go through the bailiff's hands, and it was but the other day
that Green was complaining of the high prices of the man he employed for
hampers and game-baskets. Green shall write to your protege.

Keep me informed of your proceedings as much as your anomalous character
will permit; so that nothing may diminish my confidence that the man who
had the honour to be christened Kenelm will not disgrace his name, but
acquire the distinction denied to a Peter.

Your affectionate father.

CHAPTER VII.

VILLAGERS lie abed on Sundays later than on workdays, and no shutter was
unclosed in a window of the rural street through which Kenelm Chillingly
and Tom Bowles went, side by side, in the still soft air of the Sabbath
morn. Side by side they went on, crossing the pastoral glebe-lands,
where the kine still drowsily reclined under the bowery shade of
glinting chestnut leaves; and diving thence into a narrow lane or
by-road, winding deep between lofty banks all tangled with convolvulus
and wild-rose and honeysuckle.

They