‘I tell you, Philip, it a’most took away my appetite—and that’s saying something. Seemed to me that the bullock had nearly all the signs of foot-and-mouth; and the vet. thought so too; when along comes Beecham, and shows us it was nothing of the kind, but that the brute had somehow swallowed a poisonous herb. Clever chap that. Never thought he knew anything about cattle.... You see what it would have been to me? I would not have been allowed to exhibit at Smithfield at all this year—I, who have some of the finest stock in the county or in Norfolk either, and I won’t even bar that of His Royal Highness, although he has a prime breed—managed as well as my own too. I set my heart on getting a prize at the show this year; and it was hard lines to think that I was to be shut out at the last moment a’most, all owing to them foreigners bringing the disease amongst us.’ ‘But you are at rest on that score now,’ said Philip, rousing himself to say something. ‘O yes; it’s right enough now; but it _was_ a scare; and if it had not been for Beecham, the vet. would have gone off and reported me. I couldn’t have said nay; for bad as it would be to get the disease amongst my own stock, I’d feel it a heap worse if I carried it to somebody else’s. Don’t know how to be thankful enough to Beecham.’ The repetition of the name awakened some association of sounds in Philip’s ears; and whilst one division of his thoughts was entirely occupied with Madge, there seemed to be another whispering the question: ‘Was not that voice I heard behind me at the “dancing beeches” like the stranger’s?’ Uncle Dick went on describing the merits of the cattle he was to exhibit at Smithfield; but when he had pushed away his plate, he suddenly became aware that he was speaking to an inattentive audience. ‘Got the toothache, Philip?—or lost anything?’ he asked. ‘No, no.—I beg your pardon, Uncle Dick,’ replied Philip, a little confused, but frankly admitting his inattention. ‘Madge did not seem to be quite well when she came in just now, and I was thinking about her.’ ‘Wool-gathering,’ said Uncle Dick with a hearty laugh. ‘Well, never mind. I ought to have known better. What’s the use of talking about prime fat cattle to a lad when he is sweethearting! I forgive you.’ Philip made an attempt to respond to the laugh; but it was not very successful, and he was glad of the relief which the entrance of the dame afforded him. In her quiet eyes, he fancied that there were signs of disturbed thought. ‘What ails Madge?’ inquired Uncle Dick. ‘Here is Philip in a way about her. She was well enough at dinner-time.’ ‘She is out of sorts a bit, and wants to see Philip in the other room.’ ‘Go to her lad; and if you have been amusing yourselves with a tiff—why, buss and make it up.’ Philip scarcely heard the whole of this wise counsel, for he had darted off the moment he heard that Madge wanted him.