tholics--the Desb'roughs o' Dorset are gentlemen.
And she's good for the pianer, too! She strums to me of evenin's. I'm
for the old tunes: she's for the new. Gal-like! While she's with me she
shall be taught things use'l. She can parley-voo a good 'un and foot it,
as it goes; been in France a couple of year. I prefer the singin' of
't to the talkin' of 't. Come, Luce! toon up--eh?--Ye wun't? That
song abort the Viffendeer--a female"--Farmer Blaize volunteered the
translation of the title--"who wears the--you guess what! and marches
along with the French sojers: a pretty brazen bit o' goods, I sh'd
fancy."

Mademoiselle Lucy corrected her uncle's French, but objected to do more.
The handsome cross boy had almost taken away her voice for speech, as it
was, and sing in his company she could not; so she stood, a hand on her
uncle's chair to stay herself from falling, while she wriggled a dozen
various shapes of refusal, and shook her head at the farmer with fixed
eyes.

"Aha!" laughed the farmer, dismissing her, "they soon learn the
difference 'twixt the young 'un and the old 'un. Go along, Luce! and
learn yer lessons for to-morrow."

Reluctantly the daughter of the Royal Navy glided away. Her uncle's head
followed her to the door, where she dallied to catch a last impression
of the young stranger's lowering face, and darted through.

Farmer Blaize laughed and chuckled. "She an't so fond of her uncle as
that, every day! Not that she an't a good nurse--the kindest little soul
you'd meet of a winter's walk! She'll read t' ye, and make drinks, and
sing, too, if ye likes it, and she won't be tired. A obstinate good 'un,
she be! Bless her!"

The farmer may have designed, by these eulogies of his niece, to give
his visitor time to recover his composure, and establish a common
topic. His diversion only irritated and confused our shame-eaten youth.
Richard's intention had been to come to the farmer's threshold: to
summon the farmer thither, and in a loud and haughty tone then and
there to take upon himself the whole burden of the charge against Tom
Bakewell. He had strayed, during his passage to Belthorpe, somewhat back
to his old nature; and his being compelled to enter the house of his
enemy, sit in his chair, and endure an introduction to his family, was
more than he bargained for. He commenced blinking hard in preparation
for the horrible dose to which delay and the farmer's cordiality added
inconceivable bitters. Farmer