“To my mind, Nellie,” he cried presently, “the room do seem to look more cheerful-like wi’out the winder curtains. A body notices the paper more--the dear old paper what I did stick up for ’ee myself.” Nellie opened her mouth as though to speak, but changed her mind and closed it again. “I tell you what it is,” cried Private Bunce enthusiastically, “the place wouldn’t look itself wi’out that wall-paper. I wouldn’t have it changed for anything.” Then Nellie burst out laughing and clapped her hands. THE MAJESTY OF THE LAW. They were cutting Farmer Fowler’s largest hayfield; it was eleven o’clock, and the men had just “knocked off” for the light meal known in those parts as “nuncheon”. A big flagon of cider was being passed round from one to the other, accompanied by goodly slices of bread and cheese. The farmer himself stood a little apart under the shade of a large elm which grew midway in the hedgerow that divided this field from its neighbour, paying a half scornful attention to the scraps of talk with which the labourers seasoned their meal. He himself was not given to self-indulgence, and inwardly chafed at the loss of this half-hour from the busiest time of the day. He had worked as hard as any of his men, and was, indeed, hardly to be distinguished from them, except by the better quality of his clothes. He was a tall, strong-looking fellow, with a face as sunburnt as any of theirs, and arms as muscular and brown. He was coatless, and wore a great chip hat; his shirt-sleeves were rolled up above his elbows, and his shirt was open at the throat. Two teams of horses stood in the shadow of the hedge, plucking at the twigs or stretching down their necks towards the grass which they could not reach; the vast field, half cut, lay shimmering before him in a blaze of light; the dome overhead glowed almost to whiteness, for the sun at this hour was intolerably hot. Yet even as the master gazed, impatiently longing for the moment when he could set his hinds to work again, he saw a figure rapidly crossing the field, looking from right to left, as though in search of some one. It was the figure of a young woman; so much he could divine from the shapely outline and springing ease of motion, but her face was at first lost to him under the deep shade of her broad-brimmed hat. She approached the group of labourers first, and made some query in a tone too low for him to distinguish the words. He saw his foreman, however, turn towards the tree beneath which he himself stood and jerk his thumb over his shoulder. Evidently the young woman had come in search of him. She made her way towards him, walking more slowly, and indicating by her aspect a certain amount of diffidence. A comely girl--he could see that now--dark-eyed, dark-haired, and glowing with health and life. “If you please, sir,” she began timidly, “I came--my father sent me. It’s about the taxes.”