Will replied firmly, still holding her hand, that he was going to put his money into farming, and by the way, would she countermand that order to the Carrier for the horse? “Oh, but we must have a horse,” said Polly. “Quite so, but why through Jinny?” He was prepared himself, he explained, to get them the best animal at the lowest price. “And for what commission?” she queried. “For love!” said Will. Polly withdrew her hand. “No, thank you. We’d best let it go through Jinny—like everything else.” CHAPTER VII COMEDY OF CORYDON AND AMARYLLIS _Among the rest a shepherd, though but young,_ _Yet harten’d to his pipe, with all the skill_ _His few years could, began to fit his quill,_ _Willie he hight. . . ._ _Fair was the day, but fairer was the maid_ _Who that day’s morn into the green-woods stray’d._ _Sweet was the air, but sweeter was her breathing,_ _Such rare perfumes the roses are bequeathing._ BROWNE, “Britannia’s Pastorals.” I It was the shepherd-cowman, and not Jinny, who delivered the horn to Will. She had “happened of him,” Master Peartree explained tediously, in the remote field to which he had taken the sheep to feed off the winter barley. “Powerfully trumpeting” for him with it just when he was looking for fly, when indeed in the very act of discovering a maggoty rump, she had besought him to convey that “liddle ole horn,” she being so late and Gran’fer likely to be “in a taking.”