her fashion."

"You hear what the young rye says?" said Mrs. Petulengro. "I am sure you
will oblige the young rye, if not myself. Many people would be willing
to oblige the young rye, if he would but ask them; but he is not in the
habit of asking favours. He has a nose of his own, which he keeps
tolerably exalted; he does not think small-beer of himself, madam; and
all the time I have been with him, I never heard him ask a favour before;
therefore, madam, I am sure you will oblige him. My sister Ursula would
be very willing to oblige him in many things, but he will not ask for
anything, except for such a favour as a word, which is a poor favour
after all. I don't mean for her word; perhaps he will some day ask you
for your word. If so . . ."

"Why here you are, after railing at me for catching at words, catching at
a word yourself," said Mr. Petulengro.

"Hold your tongue, sir," said Mrs. Petulengro. "Don't interrupt me in my
discourse; if I caught at a word now, I am not in the habit of doing so.
I am no conceited body; no newspaper Neddy; no pothouse witty person. I
was about to say, madam, that if the young rye asks you at any time for
your word, you will do as you deem convenient; but I am sure you will
oblige him by allowing me to braid your hair."

"I shall not do it to oblige him," said Belle; "the young rye, as you
call him, is nothing to me."

"Well, then, to oblige me," said Mrs. Petulengro; "do allow me to become
your poor tire-woman."

"It is great nonsense," said Belle, reddening; "however, as you came to
see me, and ask the matter as a particular favour to yourself . . ."

"Thank you, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, leading Belle to the stool;
"please to sit down here. Thank you; your hair is very beautiful,
madam," she continued as she proceeded to braid Belle's hair; "so is your
countenance. Should you ever go to the great city, among the grand
folks, you would make a sensation, madam. I have made one myself, who am
dark; the chi she is kauley, which last word signifies black, which I am
not, though rather dark. There's no colour like white, madam; it's so
lasting, so genteel. Gentility will carry the day, madam, even with the
young rye. He will ask words of the black lass, but beg the word of the
fair."

In the meantime Mr. Petulengro and myself entered into conversation. "Any
news stirring, Mr. Petulengro?" said I. "Have you heard anything of the
great religious movements?"

"P