e honest pride with which the agent
handled the reins.

A few minutes brought them to Daisy Lane. Here indeed was a change! An
unstinted expenditure of money, the toil of innumerable workmen, and the
tireless energy and ever-ready tact of Mr. Gray, had converted the place
into a model village. Instead of dropsical and rotting hovels, neat and
smiling cottages were seen on every side. The vicarage, and the one
farm-house not included in the property of "Cobbler" Horn, which had,
aforetime, by their respectability and good repair, aggravated the
untidiness and dilapidation of the rest of the village, were now rendered
almost shabby by the fresh beauty of the renovated property of "the Golden
Shoemaker."

On every hand there were signs of rejoicing. It was evidently a gala day
at Daisy Lane. Over almost every garden gate there was an arch of flowers.
Streamers and garlands were displayed at every convenient point. Such a
quantity of bunting had never before fluttered in the breezes of Daisy
Lane.

As they approached the farm-house which "Cobbler" Horn had inspected on
the occasion of his first visit, their progress was stayed by the farmer
himself, who was waiting for them at his gate, radiant and jovial, a
farmer, as it seemed, without a grievance! He advanced into the road with
uplifted hand, and Mr. Gray and his son reined in their horses. The farmer
approached the side of the dog-cart.

"Let me have a shake of your fist, sir," he said, seizing the hand of "the
Golden Shoemaker." "You're a model landlord. No offence; but it's hard to
believe that you're anyways related to that 'ere old skin-flint as was
owner here afore you."

The farmer wore on his breast a huge red rosette, almost as big as a
pickling cabbage, as though the occasion had been that of an election day,
or a royal wedding, or some other celebration equally august.

"I'm glad you're satisfied with what Mr. Gray has done, Mr. Carter," said
"Cobbler" Horn.

"Satisfied! That ain't the word! And, as for Gray--well, he's a decent
body enough. But it's little as he could ha' done, if you hadn't spoke the
word."

Then they drove on, and the farmer followed in their wake, occupying, with
the roll of his legs, and the flourish of his big stick, as much of the
road as the carriages themselves.

As they proceeded, they passed several groups of villagers, in gala dress,
who were making their way towards the gates of the Hall grounds.

"These are the lagga