“I believe, sir,” replied the trusty one, “that I am to blame for that; for a note was brought here yesterday morning, and I forgot to deliver it till just as my master was going to bed. The note was from Sir Andrew Featherstone, to say that the archery-meeting was fixed for this day instead of next Wednesday, in order to accommodate the young ladies from Hollywick Priory, because they must accompany their uncle to Cheltenham on Monday at the latest; and so, sir, my master was forced to go in a hurry; and as he had taken the carriage-horses to the assizes yesterday, and as the other horses had not been much used to the chariot, so he ordered me to go down to the Red Lion to bespeak a pair of chaise-horses, and I by mistake ordered chaise and horses; and as it was very late when I returned, my master would not make any alteration, and he took them as I had ordered.” “Well,” replied Mr. Martindale, “but Parson Denver told me that your master was gone to London; now Sir Andrew Featherstone has not an archery-meeting at his townhouse.” “That must be a mistake of Mr. Denver’s; for I am sure that my master is not gone to London. I can show you, sir, the very letter which my master received from Sir Andrew Featherstone.” Thereupon the trusty Oliver left the worthy old gentleman for a few minutes to his own meditations; and as he knew that it would be in vain to look for a letter which had no existence but in his own imagination, he used this interval in properly tutoring the sheriffs’ officers in case they should again meet Mr. Martindale. “It is very unfortunate, sir,” exclaimed the butler, when he returned to the library, “but I believe my master must have carried the letter with him; for I saw it on his dressing-table this morning, and I read it when his back was turned; but I think he went into the room again before he left home, and he has, no doubt, taken the letter with him.” “Ay, ay, never mind; I don’t want to see any of Sir Andrew Featherstone’s foolish letters. Archery, forsooth! and for young women to make such an exhibition of themselves! It is absolutely indecent. I am sorry that Philip should lend himself to encourage any such ridiculous foolery. What crotchet will seize the fashionable world next, I wonder. I suppose we shall have the tread-mill converted into a machine for the amusement of elegant females. It will be a pretty species of gymnastic exercise. Now, Oliver, I beg you will not say a word to your master of my having made inquiries after him, and see that these drunken officers are sent away as soon as possible. It is quite disreputable for the servants to keep such company.”