merry. I live, you see, in the London stink; and the smell of
the hedges and the wild flowers is too much for me at first. It gets
into my head, it does. I'm drunk! As I live by bread, I'm drunk on fresh
air! Oh! what a jolly day! Oh! how young and innocent I do feel!" Here
his innocence got the better of him, and he began to sing, "I wish I
were a little fly, in my love's bosom for to lie!" "Hullo! here we are
on the nice soft grass! and, oh, my gracious! there's a bank running
down into a hollow! I can't stand that, you know. Mr. Moody, hold my
hat, and take the greatest care of it. Here goes for a roll down the
bank!"

He handed his horrible hat to the astonished Moody, laid himself flat
on the top of the bank, and deliberately rolled down it, exactly as he
might have done when he was a boy. The tails of his long gray coat flew
madly in the wind: the dog pursued him, jumping over him, and barking
with delight; he shouted and screamed in answer to the dog as he rolled
over and over faster and faster; and, when he got up, on the level
ground, and called out cheerfully to his companions standing above him,
"I say, you two, I feel twenty years younger already!"--human gravity
could hold out no longer. The sad and silent Moody smiled, and Isabel
burst into fits of laughter.

"There," he said "didn't I tell you you would get used to me, Miss?
There's a deal of life left in the old man yet--isn't there? Shy me down
my hat, Mr. Moody. And now we'll get to business!" He turned round to
the dog still barking at his heels. "Business, Puggy!" he called out
sharply, and Puggy instantly shut up his mouth, and said no more.

"Well, now," Old Sharon resumed when he had joined his friends and had
got his breath again, "let's have a little talk about yourself, miss.
Has Mr. Moody told you who I am, and what I want with you? Very good.
May I offer you my arm? No! You like to be independent, don't you? All
right--I don't object. I am an amiable old man, I am. About this Lady
Lydiard, now? Suppose you tell me how you first got acquainted with
her?"

In some surprise at this question, Isabel told her little story.
Observing Sharon's face while she was speaking, Moody saw that he was
not paying the smallest attention to the narrative. His sharp, shameless
black eyes watched the girl's face absently; his gross lips curled
upwards in a sardonic and self-satisfied smile. He was evidently setting
a trap for her of some kind. Without a word