f them, and my mother and sisters two dozen," he would say of the
Ingoldsbys when he went to bed in the room that was to be burnt down in
preparation for his exile. And he believed it. They were honest; they
were unselfish; they were unpretending. His sister Molly was not above
owning that her young brewer was all the world to her; a fine, honest,
bouncing girl, who said her prayers with a meaning, thanked the Lord for
giving her Joshua, and laughed so loud that you could hear her out of
the rectory garden half across the park. Harry knew that they were
good,--did in his heart know that where the parsons begin the good things
were likely to begin also.

He was in this state of mind, the hand of good pulling one way and the
devil's pride the other, when young Thoroughbung called for him one
morning to carry him on to Cumberlow Green. Cumberlow Green was a
popular meet in that county, where meets have not much to make them
popular except the good-humor of those who form the hunt. It is not a
county either pleasant or easy to ride over, and a Puckeridge fox is
surely the most ill-mannered of foxes. But the Puckeridge men are
gracious to strangers, and fairly so among themselves. It is more than
can be said of Leicestershire, where sportsmen ride in brilliant boots
and breeches, but with their noses turned supernaturally into the air.
"Come along; we've four miles to do, and twenty minutes to do it in.
Halloo, Molly, how d'ye do? Come up on to the step and give us a kiss."

"Go away!" said Molly, rushing back into the house. "Did you ever hear
anything like his impudence?"

"Why shouldn't you?" said Kate. "All the world knows it." Then the gig,
with the two sportsmen, was driven on. "Don't you think he looks
handsome in his pink coat?" whispered Molly, afterward, to her elder
sister. "Only think; I have never seen him in a red coat since he was my
own. Last April, when the hunting was over, he hadn't spoken out; and
this is the first day he has worn pink this year."

Harry, when he reached the meet, looked about him to watch how he was
received. There are not many more painful things in life than when an
honest, gallant young fellow has to look about him in such a frame of
mind. It might have been worse had he deserved to be dropped, some one
will say. Not at all. A different condition of mind exists then, and a
struggle is made to overcome the judgment of men which is not in itself
painful. It is part of the natural bat