eemed none the worse for his adventure.

"Hello!" he called, pulling up the mare; "'mornin', Uncle Issy--
'mornin', father."

"Same to you, my son. Whither away?--as the man said once."

"Aye, whither away?" chimed Uncle Issy; "for the pilchards be all gone
up Channel these two months."

"To Liskeard, for a chest-o'-drawers." Young Zeb, to be ready for
married life, had taken a house for himself--a neat cottage with a yard
and stable, farther up the coombe. But stress of business had
interfered with the furnishing until quite lately.

"Rate meogginy, I suppose, as befits a proud tradesman."

"No: painted, but wi' the twiddles put in so artfully you'd think 'twas
rale. So, as 'tis a fine day, I'm drivin' in to Mister Pennyway's shop
o' purpose to fetch it afore it be snapped up, for 'tis a captivatin'
article. I'll be back by six, tho', i' time to get into my clothes an'
grease my hair for the courant, up to Sheba."

"Zeb," said his father, abruptly, "'tis a grand match you'm makin', an'
you may call me a nincom, but I wish ye wasn'."

"'Tis lookin' high," put in Uncle Issy.

"A cat may look at a king, if he's got his eyes about en," Old Zeb went
on, "let alone a legacy an' a green cart. 'Tain't that: 'tis the
maid."

"How's mother?" asked the young man, to shift the conversation.

"Hugly, my son. Hi! Rachel!" he shouted, turning his head towards the
cottage; and then went on, dropping his voice, "As between naybours,
I'm fain to say she don't shine this mornin'. Hi, mother! here's
Zebedee waitin' to pay his respects."

Mrs. Minards appeared on the cottage threshold, with a blue check duster
round her head--a tall, angular woman, of severe deportment.
Her husband's bulletin, it is fair to say, had reference rather to her
temper than to her personal attractions.

"Be the Frenchmen landed?" she inquired, sharply.

"Why, no; nor yet likely to."

"Then why be I called out i' the midst o' my clanin'? What came I out
for to see? Was it to pass the time o' day wi' an aged
shaken-by-the-wind kind o' loiterer they name Uncle Issy?"

Apparently it was not, for Uncle Issy by this time was twenty yards up
the road, and still fleeing, with his head bent and shoulders
extravagantly arched, as if under a smart shower.

"I thought I'd like to see you, mother," said Young Zeb.

"Well, now you've done it."

"Best be goin', I reckon, my son," whispered Old Zeb.

"I be much the same to look at," announced