ed a tradesman telling him how once he had got
into great disgrace for putting a new knocker on his private side
door, without first asking permission and sending round to obtain the
opinion of an old gentleman. This person had nothing whatever to do
with the property, but lived retired and ruled his neighbours with a
rod of iron. The old knocker was quite worn out, but the new one had
scarcely been fastened on when the unfortunate owner was summoned to
the presence of the irate old gentleman, who demanded with great wrath
what on earth he meant by setting himself up above his station in this
way. It was only by a humble answer, and by begging the old gentleman
to walk down and look at the discarded knocker, promising that it
should be replaced if he thought proper, that he could be appeased. A
man then hardly dared appear in a new hat without first suggesting the
idea to his social superior.

CHAPTER X.

THE COOMBE-BOTTOM. CONCLUSION.

'There is "two-o'clock bush,"' said Cicely, pointing to a large
hawthorn; 'the shepherds look from the corner of the entrenchment, and
if the sun is over that bush they know it is two o'clock.' She was
driving me in the pony-trap over the Downs, and we were going to call
on Mrs. Luckett's brother, who had a farm among the hills. He had not
been down to Lucketts' Place for more than twelve months, and Cicely
was resolved to make him promise to come. Though they may be in
reality much attached and affectionate, country folk are apt to
neglect even their nearest and dearest. The visit is put off from
month to month; then comes the harvest, and nothing else can be
thought of; and the longer the lapse the more difficult is the remedy.
The footpath of friendship, says the ancient British triad, if not
frequently travelled becomes overgrown with briars.

Those who live by the land forget the passage of the years. A year is
but a harvest. After the ploughing and sowing and cleaning, the
reaping and thatching and threshing, what is there left of the
twelvemonth? It has gone like a day. Thus it is that a farmer talks of
twenty years since as if it was only last week, and seems unable to
grasp the flight of time till it is marked and emphasised by some
exceptional occurrence. Cicely meant to wake her uncle from this
slumber.

We started early on a beautiful July morning--partly to avoid the
heat, and partly because Cicely wished to be away when young Aaron
shortened the tails of t