“Help yourself; there’s water in that jar in the corner.”

“I dunnut knaw that there’s mich need, for all a body is dry (thirsty) in a morning,” said the fustian gentleman, rising and doing as requested.

“Will you tak’ naught yourseln, Mr. Moore?” he inquired, as with skilled hand he mixed a portion, and having tested it by a deep draught, sank back satisfied and bland in his seat. Moore—chary of words—replied by a negative movement and murmur.

“Yah’d as good,” continued his visitor; “it ’uld set ye up, wald a sup o’ this stuff. Uncommon good Hollands! ye get it fro’ furrin’ parts, I’se think?”

“Ay!”

“Tak’ my advice, and try a glass on’t; them lads ’at ’s coming ’ll keep ye talking, nob’dy knows how long: ye’ll need propping.”

“Have you seen Mr. Sykes this morning?” inquired Moore.

“I seed him a hauf an hour—nay—happen a quarter of an hour sin’, just afore I set off: he said he aimed to come here, and I sudn’t wonder but ye’ll have old Helstone too; I seed ’em saddling his little nag as I passed at back o’ t’ Rectory.”

The speaker was a true prophet, for the trot of a little nag’s hoofs were, five minutes after, heard in the yard; it stopped, and a well-known nasal voice cried aloud—“Boy (probably addressing Harry