. Then it was only to get my
right arm up to his shoulder, and lift him as high as my head, and,
when so, lean backward and throw him over my head: we call it the
Flying Horse."

"Oh, I can see it very well. No wonder Rosalind fell in love with
Orlando when he threw the wrestler Charles."

"Were they north-country or Cornish men?"

She was far too kindly and polite to smile; indeed, she gave Aspatria
a pretty, imperative glance, and answered, in the most natural manner,
"I think they were Italians."

"Oh!" said Brune, with some contempt. "Chaff on their ways! The
Devonshire wrestlers are brutal; the Cornish are too slow; but the
Cumberland men wrestle like gentlemen. They meet square and level in
the ring, and the one who could carry ill-will for a fair throw would
very soon find himself out of all rings and all good fellowship."

"You said 'even brother Will.' Is your brother a better wrestler than
you?"

"My song! he is that! Will has his match, though. We had a ploughman
once,--Aspatria remembers him,--Robert Steadman, an upright, muscular
young fellow, civil and respectful as could be in everything about his
work and place; but on wet days when we were all, masters and
servants, in the barn together, it was a sight to see Robert wrestling
with Will for the mastery, and Will never so ready to say, 'Well
done!' nor the rest of us so happy, as when we saw Will's two brawny
legs going handsomely over Robert's head."

"If I were a man, I should try to be a fine wrestler."

"It is a great comfort," said Brune. "If you have a quarrel of any
kind, it is a deal more satisfactory to meet your man, and throw him a
few times over your head, than to go to law with him. It puts a stop
to unpleasantness very quickly and very good-naturedly."

Then Sarah rose and opened the piano, and from its keys dashed out a
lilting, hurrying melody, like the galloping of horses and shaking of
bridles; and in a few moments she began to sing, and Brune went to
her side, and, because she looked so steadily into his eyes, he could
remember nothing at all of the song but its dashing refrain,--

"For he whom I wed
Must be north country bred,
And must carry me back to the North Countrie."

Then Aspatria played some wonderful music on her harp, and Sarah and
Brune sat still and listened to their own hearts, and sent out shy
glances, and caught each other in the act, and Brune was made nervous,
and Sarah gay, by the circumst