'He is very full of spirit,' she said. 'You must let me tell you a story of him. They have a young new schoolmistress at Wrapworth, his father's former living, you know, close to Castle Blanch. This poor thing was obliged to punish a school-child, the daughter of one of the bargemen on the Thames, a huge ruffianly man. Well, a day or two after, Owen came upon him in a narrow lane, bullying the poor girl almost out of her life, threatening her, and daring her to lay a finger on his children. What do you think Owen did?' 'Fought him, I suppose,' said Mr. Parsons, judging by the peculiar delight ladies take in such exploits. 'Besides, he has sufficiently the air of a hero to make it incumbent on him to "kill some giant."' 'We may be content with something short of his killing the giant,' said Honor, 'but he really did gain the victory. That lad, under nineteen, positively beat this great monster of a man, and made him ask the girl's pardon, knocked him down, and thoroughly mastered him! I should have known nothing of it, though, if Owen had not got a black eye, which made him unpresentable for the Castle Blanch gaieties, so he came down to the Holt to me, knowing I should not mind wounds gained in a good cause.' They wished her good night in her triumph. The receipt of a letter was rare and supreme felicity to Maria; therefore to indite one was Phoebe's first task on the morrow; after which she took up her book, and was deeply engaged, when the door flew back, and the voice of Owen Sandbrook exclaimed, 'Goddess of the silver bow! what, alone?' 'Miss Charlecote is with her lawyer, and Robert at the office.' 'The parson and parsoness parsonically gone to study parsonages, schools, and dilapidations, I suppose. What a bore it is having them here; I'd have taken up my quarters here, otherwise, but I can't stand parish politics.' 'I like them very much,' said Phoebe, 'and Miss Charlecote seems to be happy with them.' 'Just her cut, dear old thing; the same honest, illogical, practical sincerity,' said Owen, in a tone of somewhat superior melancholy; but seeing Phoebe about to resent his words as a disrespectful imputation on their friend, he turned the subject, addressing Phoebe in the manner between teasing and flattering, habitual to a big schoolboy towards a younger child, phases of existence which each had not so long outgrown as to have left off the mutual habits thereto belonging. 'And what is bright Cynthia doing? Writing verses, I declare!--worthy sister of Phoebus Apollo.' 'Only notes,' said Phoebe, relinquishing her paper, in testimony. 'When found make a note of--Summoned by writ--temp. Ed. III.--burgesses--knights of shire. It reads like an act of parliament. Hallam's English Constitution. My eyes! By way of lighter study. It is quite appalling. Pray what may be the occupation of your more serious moments?' 'You see the worst I have with me.'