His mother, who had always been pleased with his attachment to Lucy Wilmot, thought it but fair to tell him one day how generously she had contributed to his enlargement. John was much overcome, and took the first opportunity of warmly thanking Lucy for her kindness to him. Lucy was vexed at his knowing it, and was a good deal confused; but there was something in her manner, which encouraged him to express his hopes of being some day united to her. Lucy was a frank, ingenuous, open-hearted girl, and did not pretend to deny the regard that she felt for him; "but, John," said she, "I can never consent to marry a poacher; I should not think it right to unite myself to a man who lives in the habit of breaking the laws. I could not bear to have for a husband, the companion of nightly plunderers, drunkards, and sabbath-breakers. Besides, I should never have a moment's peace. The thoughts of fines, and imprisonments, and fightings with game-keepers, and all sorts of terrible things, would never be out of my head. Instead of your coming home to me at night, I should expect to hear of your being taken up, or wounded, or being forced to fly the country. No, John; I don't pretend to deny the kindness I feel for you. We were play-fellows when children; were always good friends as we were growing up; and--perhaps--I might now use a stronger term of regard; but I never will--I never can--marry a poacher." Wildgoose promised again and again, that he would give it up. "So you said before, John. Nobody could promise fairer than you did; and for a little while I hoped you would keep your promise. But you know how little came of it after all." John promised that this time he would be more steady. Lucy replied, "As yet, John, we are both much too young to think of settling. If I know my own heart, I think that I shall never love any man but you: but I will never become your wife, until you have shewn, by the experience of a year or two, that you have firmness enough to keep to your present resolution." Wildgoose's spirit was a little _up_ at Lucy's not choosing to _trust_ him at once. He was deeply gratified by her acknowledgment that she was attached to him; but at the same time felt something like pique and ill-humour, at what he called her want of confidence in him. He was doubly resolved, however, to prove by his conduct that she had no reason to doubt his steadiness. Every thing now seemed going on well. John passed his days in honest labour, and spent his evenings at home. He saw Lucy frequently; but soon after Christmas she was obliged to return to her place, which was in the family of a respectable gentleman, at some distance.