Russel Overshute knocked at the door, in his usual quick and impetuous way. In the main he was a gentleman; and he would have knocked at a nobleman's door exactly as he did at the Carrier's. But all radical theories, fine as they are, detract from gentle practice; and the too-large-minded man, while young, takes a flying leap over small niceties. He does not remember that poor men need more deference than rich men, because they are not used to it. To put it more plainly--Overshute knocked hard, and meant no harm by it. "Come in, sir, and kindly welcome!" Cripps began, as he showed him in; "plaize to take this chair, your Worship. Never mind your boots; Lor' bless us! the mud of three counties cometh here." "Then it goes away again very quickly! Miss Cripps, how are you? May I shake hands?" Esther, who had been shrinking into the shade of the clock and the dresser, came forward with a brave bright blush, and offered her hand, as a lady might. Russel Overshute took it kindly, and bowed to her curtsy, and smiled at her. In an honest manly way, he admired pretty Esther. "Master Cripps, you are too bad; and your sister in the conspiracy too! I do believe that your mind is set to make me as tipsy as a king to-night!" "They little things!" said the Carrier, pointing to the old oak table, where a bottle of grand old whiskey shone with the reflected gleam of lemons, and glasses danced in the firelight--"they little things, sir, was never set for so good a gentleman afore, nor a one to do such honour to un. But they might be worse, sir, they might be worse, to spake their simple due of un. And how is poor Squire to-night, your Worship?" "Well, he is about as usual. Nothing seems to move him much. He sits in his old chair, and listens for a step that never comes. But his patience is wonderful. It ought to be a lesson to us; and I hope it has been one to me. He trusts in the Lord, Cripps, as strongly as ever. I fear I should have given up that long ago, if I were laid on my back as he is." "Young folk," answered Cripps, as he drew the cork--"meaning no disrespect to you, sir--when they encounters trouble, is like a young horse a-coming to the foot of a hill for the fust time wi' a heavy load. He feeleth the collar beginning to press, and he tosseth his head, and that maketh un worse. He beginneth to get into fret and fume, and he shaketh his legs with anger, and he turneth his head and foameth a bit, and champeth, to ax the maning o' it. And then you can judge what the stuff of him is. If he be bad stuff, he throweth them back, and tilteth up his loins, and spraddleth. But if he hath good stuff, he throweth out his chest, and putteth the fire into his eyes, and closeth his nostrils, and gathereth his legs, and straineth his muscles like a bowstring. But be he as good as a wool, he longeth to see over the top of that there hill, afore he be half-way up it."