. We made
acquaintance on this first night, when I sat watching for John; and we
kept up the friendship ever afterwards.

It was nine o'clock before I heard the old mare's hoofs clattering up
the road: joyfully I ran out.

David was not quite his youthful, gay self that night; not quite, as he
expressed it, "the David of the sheep-folds." He was very tired, and
had what he called "the tan-yard feeling," the oppression of business
cares.

"Times are hard," said he, when we had finally shut out the starlight,
and Mrs. Tod had lit candles, bade us good-night in her free,
independent way, and "hoped Mr. Halifax had everything he wanted." She
always seemed to consider him the head of our little menage.

"The times are very hard," repeated John, thoughtfully. "I don't see
how your father can rightly be left with so many anxieties on his
shoulders. I must manage to get to Norton Bury at least five days a
week. You will have enough of solitude, I fear."

"And you will have little enough of the pleasant country life you
planned, and which you seem so to delight in."

"Never mind--perhaps it's good for me. I have a life of hard work
before me, and can't afford to get used to too much pleasure. But
we'll make the most of every bit of time we have. How have you felt
to-day? Strong?"

"Very strong. Now what would you like us to do tomorrow?"

"I want to show you the common in early morning--the view there is so
lovely."

"Of Nature, or human nature?"

He half smiled, though only at my mischievousness. I could see it did
not affect him in the least. "Nay, I know what you mean; but I had
forgotten her, or, if not absolutely forgotten, she was not in my mind
just then. We will go another way, as indeed I had intended: it might
annoy the young lady, our meeting her again."

His grave, easy manner of treating and dismissing the subject was a
tacit reproach to me. I let the matter drop; we had much more serious
topics afloat than gossip about our neighbours.

At seven next morning we were out on the Flat.

"I'm not going to let you stand here in the dews, Phineas. Come a
little farther on, to my terrace, as I call it. There's a panorama!"

It was indeed. All around the high flat a valley lay, like a moat, or
as if some broad river had been dried up in its course, and, century
after century, gradually converted into meadow, woodland, and town.
For a little white town sat demurely at the bottom of the ho