Miss Jemima having carefully sealed this note, which Mrs. Hazeldean had very willingly deputed her to write, took it herself into the stable-yard, in order to give the groom proper instructions to wait for an answer. But while she was speaking to the man, Frank, equipped for riding with more than his usual dandyism, came also into the yard, calling for his pony in a loud voice, and singling out the very groom whom Miss Jemima was addressing--for, indeed, he was the smartest of all in the Squire's stables--told him to saddle the gray pad, and accompany the pony. "No, Frank," said Miss Jemima, "you can't have George; your father wants him to go on a message--you can take Mat." "Mat, indeed!" said Frank, grumbling with some reason; for Mat was a surly old fellow, who tied a most indefensible neckcloth, and always contrived to have a great patch in his boots; besides, he called Frank "Master," and obstinately refused to trot down hill; "Mat, indeed!--let Mat take the message, and George go with me." But Miss Jemima had also her reasons for rejecting Mat. Mat's foible was not servility, and he always showed true English independence in all houses where he was not invited to take his ale in the servants' hall. Mat might offend Signor Riccabocca, and spoil all. An animated altercation ensued, in the midst of which the Squire and his wife entered the yard, with the intention of driving in the conjugal gig to the market town. The matter was referred to the natural umpire by both the contending parties. The Squire looked with great contempt on his son. "And what do you want a groom at all for? Are you afraid of tumbling off the pony?" FRANK.--"No, sir; but I like to go as a gentleman, when I pay a visit to a gentleman!" SQUIRE, in high wrath.--"You precious puppy! I think I'm as good a gentleman as you, any day, and I should like to know when you ever saw me ride to call on a neighbor, with a fellow jingling at my heels, like that upstart Ned Spankie, whose father kept a cotton-mill. First time I ever heard of a Hazeldean thinking a livery-coat was necessary to prove his gentility!" MRS. HAZELDEAN, observing Frank coloring, and about to reply.--"Hush, Frank, never answer your father--and you are going to call on Mr. Leslie?" "Yes, ma'am, and I am very much obliged to my father for letting me," said Frank, taking the Squire's hand. "Well, but, Frank," continued Mrs. Hazeldean, "I think you heard that the Leslies were very poor." FRANK.--"Eh, mother?" MRS. HAZELDEAN.--"And would you run the chance of wounding the pride of a gentleman, as well born as yourself, by affecting any show of being richer than he is?" SQUIRE, with great admiration.--"Harry, I'd give £10 to have said that!" FRANK, leaving the Squire's hand to take his mother's.--"You're quite right, mother--nothing could be more _snobbish_!" SQUIRE.--"Give us your fist too, sir; you'll be a chip of the old block, after all." Frank smiled, and walked off to his pony.