the great staircase; the lady, in her sky-blue mantle, followed,
gallantly escorted by the gentleman; the gentleman embraced her at her
door, and retired to his own apartment, where Boots softly locked him
in.

Boots couldn't but feel with increased acuteness what a base deceiver
he was, when they consulted him at breakfast (they had ordered sweet
milk-and-water, and toast and currant jelly, over-night) about the
pony. It really was as much as he could do, he don't mind confessing
to me, to look them two young things in the face, and think what a
wicked old father of lies he had grown up to be. Howsomever, he went
on a-lying like a Trojan about the pony. He told 'em that it did so
unfortunately happen that the pony was half clipped, you see, and that
he couldn't be taken out in that state, for fear it should strike to
his inside. But that he'd be finished clipping in the course of the
day, and that to-morrow morning at eight o'clock the pheayton would be
ready. Boots' view of the whole case, looking back on it in my room,
is, that Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior, was beginning to give in. She
hadn't had her hair curled when she went to bed, and she didn't seem
quite up to brushing it herself, and its getting in her eyes put
her out. But nothing put out Master Harry. He sat behind his
breakfast-cup, a-tearing away at the jelly, as if he had been his own
father.

After breakfast Boots is inclined to consider they drawed soldiers--at
least he knows that many such was found in the fireplace, all on
horseback. In the course of the morning Master Harry rang the bell--it
was surprising how that there boy did carry on--and said, in a
sprightly way, "Cobbs, is there any good walks in this neighborhood?"

"Yes, sir," says Cobbs. "There's Love Lane."

"Get out with you, Cobbs!"--that was that there boy's
expression--"you're joking."

"Begging your pardon, sir," says Cobbs, "there _really is_ Love Lane.
And a pleasant walk it is, and proud shall I be to show it to yourself
and Mrs. Harry Walmers, Junior."

"Norah, dear," says Master Harry, "this is curious. We really ought to
see Love Lane. Put on your bonnet, my sweetest darling, and we will go
there with Cobbs."

Boots leaves me to judge what a Beast he felt himself to be, when that
young pair told him, as they all three jogged along together, that
they had made up their minds to give him two thousand guineas a year
as Head Gardener, on account of his being so true a friend