e forced to be friends; but I am not so particular
or superstitious. You might sup the contents of that decanter, and you
might give me a bottle of the best in your own cellar, and I'd hold
myself free to oppose you at every turn still--in every vestry-meeting
and justice-meeting where we encountered one another."

"It is just what I should expect of you, Mr. Yorke."

"Does it agree wi' ye now, Mr. Helstone, to be riding out after rioters,
of a wet night, at your age?"

"It always agrees with me to be doing my duty; and in this case my duty
is a thorough pleasure. To hunt down vermin is a noble occupation, fit
for an archbishop."

"Fit for ye, at ony rate. But where's t' curate? He's happen gone to
visit some poor body in a sick gird, or he's happen hunting down vermin
in another direction."

"He is doing garrison-duty at Hollow's Mill."

"You left him a sup o' wine, I hope, Bob" (turning to Mr. Moore), "to
keep his courage up?"

He did not pause for an answer, but continued, quickly, still addressing
Moore, who had thrown himself into an old-fashioned chair by the
fireside--"Move it, Robert! Get up, my lad! That place is mine. Take the
sofa, or three other chairs, if you will, but not this. It belangs to
me, and nob'dy else."

"Why are you so particular to that chair, Mr. Yorke?" asked Moore,
lazily vacating the place in obedience to orders.

"My father war afore me, and that's all t' answer I sall gie thee; and
it's as good a reason as Mr. Helstone can give for the main feck o' his
notions."

"Moore, are you ready to go?" inquired the rector.

"Nay; Robert's not ready, or rather, I'm not ready to part wi' him. He's
an ill lad, and wants correcting."

"Why, sir? What have I done?"

"Made thyself enemies on every hand."

"What do I care for that? What difference does it make to me whether
your Yorkshire louts hate me or like me?"

"Ay, there it is. The lad is a mak' of an alien amang us. His father
would never have talked i' that way.--Go back to Antwerp, where you were
born and bred, mauvaise tete!"

"Mauvaise tete vous-meme; je ne fais que mon devoir; quant a vos
lourdauds de paysans, je m'en moque!"

"En ravanche, mon garcon, nos lourdauds de paysans se moqueront de toi;
sois en certain," replied Yorke, speaking with nearly as pure a French
accent as Gerard Moore.

"C'est bon! c'est bon! Et puisque cela m'est egal, que mes amis ne s'en
inquietent pas."

"Tes amis! Ou sont-ils, tes amis?"