urt, by the thought of
stout well-set fellows having wooed this girl; and he permitted her to
go without protest.

Yet he sat alone for a while upon the fallen tree-trunk, humming a
contented little tune. Never in his life had he been happier. He did
not venture to suppose that any creature so adorable could love such a
sickly hunchback, such a gargoyle of a man, as he was; but that Sarah
was fond of him, he knew. There would be no trouble in arranging with
her father for their marriage, most certainly; and he meant to attend
to that matter this very morning, and within ten minutes. So Mr.
Alexander Pope was meanwhile arranging in his mind a suitable wording
for his declaration of marital aspirations.

Thus John Gay found him presently and roused him from phrase-spinning.
"And what shall we do this morning, Alexander?" Gay was always
demanding, like a spoiled child, to be amused.

Pope told him what his own plans were, speaking quite simply, but with
his countenance radiant. Gay took off his hat and wiped his forehead,
for the day was warm. He did not say anything at all.

"Well----?" Mr. Pope asked, after a pause.

Mr. Gay was dubious. "I had never thought that you would marry," he
said. "And--why, hang it, Alexander! to grow enamored of a milkmaid is
well enough for the hero of a poem, but in a poet it hints at
injudicious composition."

Mr. Pope gesticulated with thin hands and seemed upon the verge of
eloquence. Then he spoke unanswerably. "But I love her," he said.

John Gay's reply was a subdued whistle. He, in common with the other
guests of Lord Harcourt, at Nuneham Courtney, had wondered what would
be the outcome of Mr. Alexander Pope's intimacy with Sarah Drew. A
month earlier the poet had sprained his ankle upon Amshot Heath, and
this young woman had found him lying there, entirely helpless, as she
returned from her evening milking. Being hale of person, she had
managed to get the little hunchback to her home unaided. And since
then Pope had often been seen with her.

This much was common knowledge. That Mr. Pope proposed to marry the
heroine of his misadventure afforded a fair mark for raillery, no
doubt, but Gay, in common with the run of educated England in 1718, did
not aspire to be facetious at Pope's expense. The luxury was too
costly. Offend the dwarf in any fashion, and were you the proudest
duke at Court or the most inconsiderable rhymester in Petticoat Lane,
it made no di