'It's the best of it!' cried the lad, eagerly. 'Why, Charlotte, don't ye see, he rose hisself. Anybody may rise hisself as has a mind to it!' 'Yes, I've read that in books said Charlotte. 'You can, men can, Tom, if you would but educate yourself like Edmund! in the _Old English Baron_. But then, you know whose son you are. There can't be no catastrophe--' 'I don't want none,' said Tom. 'We are all equal by birth, so the orator proves without a doubt, and we'll show it one of these days. A rare lady I'll make of you yet, Charlotte Arnold.' 'O hush, Tom, I can never be a lady--and I can't stand dawdling here--nor you neither. 'Tisn't right to want to be out of our station, though I do wish I lived in an old castle, where the maidens worked tapestry, and heard minstrels, never had no stairs to scour. Come, give me my mats, and thank you kindly!' 'I'll take 'em in,' said Tom, shouldering them. ''Tis breakfast-hour, so I thought I'd just run up and ax you when my young Lord goes up to Oxford. 'He is gone,' said Charlotte; 'he was here yesterday to take leave of missus. Mr. James goes later--' 'Gone!' cried Tom. 'If he didn't say he'd come and see me at Mr. Smith's!' 'Did you want to speak to him?' 'I wanted to see him particular. There's a thing lays heavy on my mind. You see that place down in Ferny dell--there's a steep bank down to the water. Well, my young Lord was very keen about building a kind of steps there in the summer, and he and I settled the stones, and I was to cement 'em. By comes Mr. Frost, and finds faults, what I thought he'd no call to; so I flings down my trowel, and wouldn't go on for he! I was so mortal angry, I would not go back to the work; and I believe my Lord forgot it--and then he went back to college; and Frampton and Gervas, they put on me, and you know how 'twas I come away from Ormersfield. I was not going to say a word to one of that lot! but if I could see Lord Fitzjocelyn, I'd tell him they stones arn't fixed; and if the frost gets into 'em, there'll be a pretty go next time there's a tolerablish weight! But there--it is his own look-out! If he never thought it worth his while to keep his promise, and come and see me--' 'O Tom! that isn't right! He only forgot--I hear Mrs. Beckett telling him he'd forget his own head if it wasn't fixed on, and Mr. James is always at him.' 'Forget! Aye, there's nothing gentlefolks forget like poor folks. But I've done with he! Let him look out--I kept my promises to him long enough, but if he don't keep his'n--' 'For shame, for shame, Tom! You don't mean it!' cried Charlotte. 'But, oh!' with a different tone, 'give me the mat! There's the old Lord and Mr. Poynings riding down the terrace!'