If you chanced to read the first series of these papers, it may scarcely be necessary to recall certain points to your recollection--that Mr. Todhetley, commonly called the Squire, had two estates. The chief one, Dyke Manor, lay on the borders of Worcestershire and Warwickshire, partly in both counties; the other, Crabb Cot, was a smaller place altogether, and much nearer Worcester. Sometimes we stayed at one place, sometimes at the other. By an arrangement with Mr. Brandon, my guardian and the trustee to my property, I, Johnny Ludlow, lived with the Todhetleys. Mrs. Todhetley, the Squire's present wife, was my stepmother, my father having married her after my own mother's death. After my father's death--which took place speedily--she became the second wife of Squire Todhetley, and the stepmother of his only son and heir, Joseph. Two children were subsequently born to them, Hugh and Lena, to whom Joseph was of course half-brother. Joseph, unlike myself, had been old enough to resent the advent of a stepmother when she came. Indulged and haughty, he did not like the gentle control she brought; though she was good as gold, as loving to him as he would let her be, and kind to everybody. I don't say but that she was tall and thin as a lamp-post, with a mild face, given to having aches in it, scanty light hair, and kindly blue eyes; so she had not much to boast of in the way of appearance. Joe and I grew up together like brothers. He was several years the elder, and domineered over me absolutely. At school he was always called "Tod;" and I fell into the same habit. Perhaps that is sufficient explanation. "And if you don't come back to-night, you had better send me a five-pound note in a letter," said Mrs. Todhetley. "All right," replied the Squire. This was said on the platform of Timberdale Station. We were staying at Crabb Cot, and were taking the train at Timberdale instead of that at South Crabb. The Squire was going to Worcester, and was taking Tod and myself with him. It was a fine morning in April, and Mrs. Todhetley and little Hugh had come with us through the Ravine for the sake of the walk. Our returning at night, or not, was left an open question, contingent upon the Squire's business at Worcester being over. "Bring me a whip, and a new bird-cage for my thrush, and a pot of marmalade, papa," called out Hugh. "What else would you like, sir?" retorted the Squire. "You bring 'em, Joe." "I dare say!" said Tod. The train puffed off, drowning Hugh's further commands. We saw him throw his cap at the train, and Mrs. Todhetley holding him back from running after it. "That young gentleman wants to be sent to school," remarked the Squire. "I'm afraid you two boys make him worse than he would be."