lips."

Having replied to this question, and given due attention to the
entertainment of his guests, Thomas Bradly, when tea was finished,
helped his wife to remove the large table to one side, and then, having
drawn forward a smaller one into the midst of the assembled company,
placed on the very centre of it a bag, which he fetched out of his
surgery. Certainly the article itself was not one much calculated to
draw attention or excite curiosity; indeed, there was something almost
burlesque in its extreme shabbiness, as it stood there the centre of
attraction, or at any rate observation, to so many eyes.

"Shall we have your story now, Thomas?" said the vicar, when all were
duly seated.

"You shall, sir; and you must bear with me if I try your patience by my
way of telling it.

"We'd a very pleasant journey to London, and then took a cab to Dr
Prosser's. The door were opened by a boy in green, with buttons all
over him; he looked summat like a young volunteer, and summat like a
great big doll. I'd seen the like of him in the windows of two or three
of the big clothing shops as we drove along. I couldn't help thinking
what a convenience them buttons must be; for if he didn't mind you, you
could lay hold on him by one of 'em, and if that'd come off there'd be
lots more to take to. `Young man,' says I, `is your master at home?'
He'd got his chin rather high in the air, and didn't seem best pleased
with the way in which I spoke to him. `Who do you mean by my master?'
says he. `Dr Prosser,' says I; `I hope he's your master, for certainly
you don't seem fit to be your own.' He stares very hard at me, and then
he says, `All right.' So I gets out, and sees to Miss Philips and her
boxes; and the doctor were very kind, and talked to me about
Crossbourne, and so did the missus. She seemed quite a changed woman,
so homely-like, and they both looked very happy, and were as kind as
could be to poor Lydia, so she took heart at once.

"When I were ready to go, I says to Dr Prosser, `Doctor, may I have a
word or two with your green boy?' `My what?' says the doctor, laughing.
`Your green boy,' says I; `him with the buttons.' `Oh, by all means,'
he says; `I hope there's nothing wrong?' `Nothing at all, sir, thank
you,' I says.--`Here, William,' says he, `step into the dining-room with
this gentleman; he wants to speak to you.'

"`You don't know who I am,' I said to the boy when we was by ourselves.
`No, nor don't want