ool,--not that my master taught it to
me. 'Gumption'--it means cleverness."

LANDLORD (doggedly).--"There's gumption and Bumptious! Gumption is
knowing; but when I say that sum 'un is gumptious, I mean--though that's
more vulgar like--sum 'un who does not think small beer of hisself. You
take me, sir?"

"I think I do," said the parson, half smiling. "I believe the Avenels
have only two of their children alive still,--their daughter who married
Mark Fairfield, and a son who went off to America?"

"Ah, but he made his fortune there and has come back."

"Indeed! I'm very glad to hear it. He has settled at Lansmere?"

"No, Sir. I hear as he's bought a property a long way off. But he comes
to see his parents pretty often--so John tells me--but I can't say
that I ever see him. I fancy Dick does n't like to be seen by folks who
remember him playing in the kennel."

"Not unnatural," said the parson, indulgently; "but he visits his
parents; he is a good son at all events, then?"

"I've nothing to say against him. Dick was a wild chap before he took
himself off. I never thought he would make his fortune; but the Avenels
are a clever set. Do you remember poor Nora--the Rose of Lansmere, as
they called her? Ah, no, I think she went up to Lunnun afore your time,
sir."

"Humph!" said the parson, dryly. "Well, I think you may take away now.
It will be dark soon, and I'll just stroll out and look about me."

"There's a nice tart coming, sir."

"Thank you, I've dined."

The parson put on his hat and sallied forth into the streets. He eyed
the houses on either hand with that melancholy and wistful interest
with which, in middle life, men revisit scenes familiar to them in
youth,--surprised to find either so little change or so much, and
recalling, by fits and snatches, old associations and past emotions.
The long High Street which he threaded now began to change its bustling
character, and slide, as it were gradually, into the high road of a
suburb. On the left, the houses gave way to the moss-grown pales of
Lansmere Park; to the right, though houses still remained, they were
separated from each other by gardens, and took the pleasing appearance
of villas,--such villas as retired tradesmen or their widows, old maids,
and half-pay officers select for the evening of their days.

Mr. Dale looked at these villas with the deliberate attention of a man
awakening his power of memory, and at last stopped before one, almost
the las