ress was a
matter of interest to them. As they came through the village, they
perceived that Farmer Huet was holding his apple feast; for he was
carrying from his house into his orchard a great bowl of spiced ale, and
was followed by a merry company, singing wassail as they poured a little
at the root of every tree:--

"Here's to thee, good apple-tree!
Whence thou may'st bud, and whence thou may'st blow,
Whence thou may'st bear apples enou';
Hats full, caps full,
Bushels full, sacks full.
Hurrah, then! Hurrah, then!
Here's to thee, good apple-tree!"

They waited a little to watch the procession round the orchard; and as
they stood, Julius advanced from an opposite direction. He took a letter
from his pocket, which he had evidently been to the mail to secure, for
Charlotte watched him break the seal as he approached; and when he
suddenly raised his head, and saw her look of amazement, he made a
little bravado of the affair, and said, with an air of frankness, "It is
a letter from Harry. I thought it was best for his letters not to come
to the house. The mail-bag might be taken to the squire's room, and who
knows what would happen if he should see one of these," and he tapped
the letter significantly with his long pointed fore-finger.

"You should not have made such an arrangement as that, Julius, without
speaking to mother. It was cruel to Harry. Why should the villagers
think that the sight of a letter from him would be so dreadful to his
own people?"

"I did it for the best, Charlotte. Of course, you will misjudge me."

"Ah! I know now why Polly Esthwaite called you, 'such a nice, kind,
thoughtful gentleman as never was.' Is the letter for you?"

"Mr. Latrigg can examine the address if you wish."

"Mr. Latrigg distinctly refuses to look at the letter. Come, Charlotte,
the air is cold and raw;" and with very scant courtesy they parted.

"What can it mean, Steve, Julius and Harry in correspondence? I don't
know what to think of such a thing. Harry has only written once to me
since he went away. There is something wrong in all this secrecy, you
may depend upon it."

"I would not be suspicious, Charlotte. Harry is affectionate and
trusting. Julius has written him letters full of sympathy and
friendship; and the poor fellow, cut off from home and kindred, has been
only too glad to answer. Perhaps we should have written also."

"B