“Oh, I have nothing else to do, and I like a drive.” “With me?’or perhaps I just spoil the pleasure,” Rose asked, with a roguish look out of the corners of her eyes. The young yeoman was unaccustomed to making gallant speeches, and he let slip the opportunity thus adroitly offered him. Rose curled her lip, as he replied’ “It is always pleasanter to have someone to talk to than to be alone, especially for a long drive.” “But it is so good, so _very_ good of you to fetch _her_.” “Why should I be such a churl as not to go when asked?” “After what has occurred, you know. What a fellow you are! In the orchard, you know.” Pooke turned blood-red. A fly was tickling him; he raised the butt-end of his whip and rubbed his nose with it. “Get along, Tucker!” he shouted. Tucker was the horse. “I hope I shall profit better from your example than I have from all the parson’s sermons,” pursued Rose. “What are you at?” asked Pooke uneasily, conscious that some ulterior end was in his companion’s view, as she thus lavished encomiums on him, and then dug into his nerves a needlepoint of sharp remark. “What am I at? Oh, Jan! nothing at all, but sitting here with my hands in my lap, so happy to have a drive’and in such excellent company’company so good.” “I don’t understand what you mean.” “It is not every man would lend his cart, nay, drive himself, to do a favour to a girl who had treated him outrageously.” “When did you treat me so?” “I’oh, Jan’not I! I could not have done that. A thousand times no”’ Rose spoke in pretty agitation, and fluttered at his side. “I mean Kitty.” “Kitty? Get along, Tucker!’it’s no use your trying to scratch yourself with your hind hoof, and run at the same time.” He addressed the horse, which was executing awkward gymnastics. “Excuse me, Rose; I must dismount. There is a briar stinging Tucker.” Jan drew up, descended, and slapped with his open hand where a horse-fly was engaged sucking blood. The fly was too wide awake to be killed; it rose, and sailed away. Then young Pooke mounted again. “Get along, Tucker!” he said, and applied the whip. “I mean,” pursued Rose, as if there had ensued no interruption. “I mean, after you had been treated so shamefully.” “I didn’t know it.” “Really, Jan! Everyone knows that Kitty refused you. It is the village talk, and everyone says it was scandalous.” “Drat it! there is that fly again at Tucker.” “Oh, if you can think of nothing but Tucker, I’ll be silent.” “Don’t be cross, Rose, I must consider Tucker, as I am driver. There might be accidents.” “Not for the world. Of course you must consider Tucker, and poor little I must be content to come into your mind in the loops and gaps not took up by the horse and the gadfly.” “What do you suppose Tucker cost father?” asked Pooke, clumsily endeavouring to change the topic. “I really don’t know.” “Eight pounds, and he is worth twenty. That was a piece of luck for father.”