Meadows left chuckling and was red and white by turns. Merton was one of those friends one may make sure of finding in adversity. “There,” cried he, “George, I told you how it would end.” George wheeled round on him like lightning. “What, do you come here to insult over me? I must be a long way lower than I am, before I shall be as low as you were when my mother took you up and made a man of you.” “George, George!” cried Susan in dismay; “stop, for pity's sake, before you say words that will separate us forever. Father,” cried the peace-making angel, “how can you push poor George so hard and him in trouble! and we have all been too unkind to him to-day.” Ere either could answer, there was happily another interruption. A smart servant in livery walked up to them with a letter. With the instinctive feeling of class they all endeavored to conceal their agitation from the gentleman's servant. He handed George the note, and saying, “I was to wait for an answer, Farmer Fielding,” sauntered toward the farm-stables. “From Mr. Winchester,” said George, after a long and careful inspection of the outside. In the country it is a point of honor to find out the writer of a letter by the direction, not the signature. “The Honorable Francis Winchester! What does he write to you?” cried Merton, in a tone of great surprise. This, too, was not lost on George. Human nature is human nature. He was not sorry to be able to read a gentleman's letter in the face of one who had bitterly reproached him, and of others who had seen him mortified and struck down. “Seems so,” said George, dryly, and with a glance of defiance; and he read out the letter. “George Fielding, my fine fellow, think of it again. I have two berths in the ship that sails from Southampton to-morrow. You will have every comfort on the voyage--a great point. I will do what I said for you” (“he promised me five hundred sheep and a run”). “I must have an honest man, and where can I find as honest a man as George Fielding?” (“Thank you, Mr. Winchester; George Fielding thanks you, sir.”) And there was something noble and simple in the way the young farmer drew himself up, and looked fearlessly in all his companions' eyes. “You saved my life--I can do nothing for you here--and you are doing no good at 'The Grove'--everybody says so (“everybody says so!”--and George Fielding winced at the words). “And it really pains me, my brave fellow, to go without you where I know I could put you on the way of fortune. My heart is pretty stout; but home is home; and be assured that I wait with some anxiety to know whether my eyes are to look on nothing but water for the next four months, or are to be cheered by the sight of something from home, the face of a thoroughbred English yeoman, and--a friend--and--and--” Poor George could read no more, the kind words, coming after his affronts and troubles, brought his heart to his mouth. Susan took the letter from him, and read out--