ng
up to the clear sky, and the Captain put his horse on the grass, that
the sound of the hoofs might not disturb the music.

"When the kine had given a pailful,
And the sheep came bleating home,
Poll, who knew it would be healthful,
Went a-walking out with Tom.
Hand in hand, sir, on the land, sir,
As they walked to and fro,
Tom made jolly love to Polly,
But was answered no, no, no."

The Captain had put his horse on the grass, that the sound of his hoofs
might not disturb the music; and now he pushed its head on to the bank,
where straightway "George of Denmark" began chewing of such a salad
as grew there. And now the Captain slid off stealthily; and smiling
comically, and hitching up his great jack-boots, and moving forward with
a jerking tiptoe step, he, just as she was trilling the last o-o-o
of the last no in the above poem of Tom D'Urfey, came up to her, and
touching her lightly on the waist, said,

"My dear, your very humble servant."

Mrs. Catherine (you know you have found her out long ago!) gave a scream
and a start, and would have turned pale if she could. As it was, she
only shook all over, and said,

"Oh, sir, how you DID frighten me!"

"Frighten you, my rosebud! why, run me through, I'd die rather than
frighten you. Gad, child, tell me now, am I so VERY frightful?"

"Oh no, your honour, I didn't mean that; only I wasn't thinking to meet
you here, or that you would ride so early at all: for, if you please,
sir, I was going to fetch a chicken for your Lordship's breakfast, as
my mistress said you would like one; and I thought, instead of going to
Farmer Brigg's, down Birmingham way, as she told me, I'd go to Farmer
Bird's, where the chickens is better, sir,--my Lord, I mean."

"Said I'd like a chicken for breakfast, the old cat! why, I told her
I would not eat a morsel to save me--I was so dru--I mean I ate such a
good supper last night--and I bade her to send me a pot of small beer,
and to tell you to bring it; and the wretch said you were gone out with
your sweetheart--"

"What! John Hayes, the creature? Oh, what a naughty story-telling
woman!"

"--You had walked out with your sweetheart, and I was not to see you
any more; and I was mad with rage, and ready to kill myself; I was, my
dear."

"Oh, sir! pray, PRAY don't."

"For your sake, my sweet angel?"

"Yes, for my sake, if such a poor girl as me can persuade noble
gentlemen."