hold! it was Widow Goodwin's
old dun cow, as had strayed. There she was coming down the lane as
peaceable as could be, and staying by nows and thens to crop the grass
by the roadside. We'd a good laugh at the mad bull, Dolly and me; and
then says I to Dolly, `Let's go and hunt out Robin.' So we turned back,
but nought of him could we see till we came to the big bean-field, and
then a voice comes through the hedge, `Is he by, maids?' Eh, but he is
a coward! Did you think he'd been so white-livered as that?" Farmer
Lavender laughed heartily. Jenny was exceedingly disgusted. She tried
to persuade herself that Fortune's tale was over-coloured, perhaps
spiteful. But one and another present chimed in with anecdotes of
Featherstone's want of moral and physical courage, till disbelief became
impossible.

"How will he get along in France, think you?" said Fortune. "They've
naught but frogs to eat there, have they?"

On that point the company was divided, being all equally ignorant. But
Farmer Lavender's good sense came to the rescue.

"Why," said he, "Jenny here tells me Colonel Wyndham's got a Frenchman
to his cook; and he'd make a poor cook if he'd never dressed nought but
frogs, I reckon."

"They'll have a bit o' bread to 'em, like as not," suggested the
waggoner.

"Well, I must be going," said Fortune, rising. "Jenny, what's come of
your grand gown as Mrs Jane gave you? We looked to see you in it this
Sunday. Folks 'll think it's all a make-up if you put it off so long."

"'Tisn't finished making up," said Kate, laughing.

"You'll see me in it next Sunday, if you choose to look," replied Jenny,
in a rather affronted tone.

She was put out by Fortune's hint that the dress was considered a
fiction; and she was thoroughly annoyed by the story about
Featherstone's cowardly conduct. Bravery was one of the qualities that
Jenny particularly admired; and she could not help feeling angry with
Featherstone for thus lowering himself in her esteem. She thought of it
many times during the week, when she was altering the flowered tabby to
fit herself, and by the time that the dress was finished, Jenny's regard
for Robin Featherstone was about finished also. Love she had never had
for him; but he had flattered her vanity, and she liked it.

The next Sunday morning came, and Jenny dressed herself in the flowered
tabby, with a pink bow on her muslin tippet. With a gratified sense of
pride, she passed Fortune and