such a help to you, it will not be
long before the squire may put the two pounds on again."

"Yes, sir," said the widow, simply; "I hope he will."

"Silly woman!" muttered the parson. "That's not exactly what the
schoolmistress would have said. You don't read nor write, Mrs.
Fairfield; yet you express yourself with great propriety."

"You know Mark was a schollard, sir, like my poor, poor sister; and
though I was a sad stupid girl afore I married, I tried to take after
him when we came together."

CHAPTER IV.

They were now in the hayfield, and a boy of about sixteen, but, like
most country lads, to appearance much younger than he was, looked up
from his rake, with lively blue eyes beaming forth under a profusion of
brown curly hair.

Leonard Fairfield was indeed a very handsome boy,--not so stout nor so
ruddy as one would choose for the ideal of rustic beauty, nor yet so
delicate in limb and keen in expression as are those children of cities,
in whom the mind is cultivated at the expense of the body; but still
he had the health of the country in his cheeks, and was not without the
grace of the city in his compact figure and easy movements. There was
in his physiognomy something interesting from its peculiar character of
innocence and simplicity. You could see that he had been brought up by
a woman, and much apart from familiar contact with other children; and
such intelligence as was yet developed in him was not ripened by the
jokes and cuffs of his coevals, but fostered by decorous lecturings from
his elders, and good-little-boy maxims in good-little-boy books.

PARSON.--"Come hither, Lenny. You know the benefit of school, I see: it
can teach you nothing better than to be a support to your mother."

LENNY (looking down sheepishly, and with a heightened glow over his
face).--"Please, sir, that may come one of these days."

PARSON.--"That's right, Lenny. Let me see! why, you must be nearly a
man. How old are you?"

Lenny looks up inquiringly at his mother.

PARSON.--"You ought to know, Lenny: speak for yourself. Hold your
tongue, Mrs. Fairfield."

LENNY (twirling his hat, and in great perplexity).--"Well, and there is
Flop, neighbour Dutton's old sheep-dog. He be very old now."

PARSON.--"I am not asking Flop's age, but your own."

LENNY.--"'Deed, sir, I have heard say as how Flop and I were pups
together. That is, I--I--"

For the parson is laughing, and so is Mrs. Fairfield; and the haymakers,