"It cannot be for good!" he repeated, regretfully; "A woman trained as she must have been trained since girlhood, with all her finer perceptions blunted by perpetual contact with the assertive and ostentatious evidences of an excess of wealth,--probably surrounded too by the pitiful vulgarisms of a half-bred American society, too ignorant to admit or recognise its own limitations,--she must have almost forgotten the stately traditions of the fine old family she springs from. One must not expect the motto of 'noblesse oblige' to weigh with modern young women--more's the pity! I'm afraid the mistress of Abbot's Manor will be a disturbing element in the village, breeding discontent and trouble where there has been till now comparative peace, and a fortunate simplicity of life. I'm sorry! This would have been a perfect First of May but Ha-ha-ha-ha!" And he broke into a laugh so joyous and mellow that Bainton found it quite irresistible and joined in it with a deep "Hor-hor-hor!" evoked from the hollow of his throat, and beginning loudly, but dying away into a hoarse intermittent chuckle. "Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the Reverend John again, throwing back his head with a real enjoyment in his capability for laughter; "You did quite right to disturb me, Bainton,--quite right! Where are Sir Morton and his party? What are they doing?" "They was jes' crossin' the churchyard when I spied 'em," answered Bainton; "An' Sir Morton was makin' some very speshul observations of his own on the 'herly Norman period.' Hor-hor-hor! An' they've got ole Putty Leveson with 'em--" "Bainton!" interrupted Walden severely; "How often must I tell you that you should not speak of the rector of Badsworth in that disrespectful manner?" "Very sorry, sir!" said Bainton complacently; "But if one of the names of a man 'appens to be Putwood an' the man 'imself is as fat as a pig scored for roastin' 'ole, what more natrul than the pet name of 'Putty' for 'im? No 'arm meant, I'm sure, Passon!--Putty's as good as Pippitt any day!" Walden suppressed his laughter with an effort. He was very much of a boy at heart, despite his forty odd years, and the quaint obstinacies of his gardener amused him too much to call for any serious remonstrance. Turning back to his study he took his hat and cane from their own particular corner of the room and started for the little clap gate which Bainton had been, as he said, 'keeping his eye on.' "No more work to-day," he said, with an air of whimsical resignation; "But I may possibly get one or two hints for my sermon!" He strode off, and Bainton watched him go. As the clap gate opened and swung to again, and his straight athletic figure disappeared, the old gardener still stood for a moment or two ruminating. "What a blessin' he ain't married!" he said thoughtfully; "A blessin' to the village, an' a blessin' to 'imself! He'd a bin a fine man spoilt, if a woman 'ad ever got 'old on 'im,--a fine man spoilt, jes' like me!"