me from London were a real military hofficer, a
reg'lar scaff'ld pole he were, for length and breadth, with mustaches as
'ud 'a' done for reins, if 'e'd only been a 'oss. He weren't no
favourite o' mine, not from the fust. He were a bit too harbitry for me.
He were a-thinkin' he were a-goin' to hintroduce 'is harmy regerlations
into our stables; but he allus 'ad to wait the longest, for all 'is
hinterferin'. But what used to rile me the most with him were 'is nasty,
sneerin' ways at young Markham's friend, the Captain. Yer see, sir, he
were a real harmy captain, and so I s'pose he were a bit jealous o' our
young Captain, as was a lot better than 'im, arter all. O' course I
didn't see it at the time, but I've said to myself lots o' times since,
it were a reg'lar plant, that's what it were, that Aunt Dorothy 'ad
brought the big soldier down o' purpose for Miss Dora to fall in love
with; but 'e were just a little bit too late.

Well, yer know, gents, I told yer as I were quite a youngster at the
time, and though ole Sir Markham said as I were werry sharp, I must
confess as I didn't quite understand 'ow things were a-goin' on. I
noticed that the two captains kept pretty clear of each other, and that
Miss Dora never came near the stables for three days together, which
were a werry unusual thing for 'er; and one of the ole servants at the
'All told me as the hofficer 'ad been hasking Sir Markham if he might
pay his addresses to Miss Dora, and that Sir Markham 'ad said he might.

My ole father were a-hactin' a bit queer about that time, too; he kept
a-hasken' me if I'd like to be a postboy, or drive the London coach, or
anything o' that, cos', he ses, "Yer know, Jim, Miss Dora 'll be
marryin' somebody one o' these days, and maybe you'll 'ave to find
summut else to do when Snowflake's gone." "Well," I ses, "if Miss Dora
got married and go'd away, I reckon she'd take me with 'er to look arter
'er 'osses, so I sha'n't want no postboy's place, nor coachun's neither,
as I sees." And father he seemed pretty satisfied, he did, only 'e says,
"If ever you should want to drive to Scotland, Jim," he ses, "you go
across the moor to the Burnley Beeches, and then yer bears off to yer
right by the Ambly Arms, three mile along you'll fine the great North
Road, and there yer are."

Well, I didn't take no notice of this, though father he kept on sayin'
o' summut o' the sort all day long, and when it came to evenin', bein'
Chris'mas Eve, we we