Nicholas, how pleased we were when we got our nice clock at last? It was a hard matter to save up enough for the clock, with a growing family coming on!" When old Sarah had advanced thus far in her reminiscences, she perceived that Mrs. Otley crossed the road and directed her steps to their cottage. She entered the humble apartment with a graceful slide, and her silk gown rustled, as Nicholas said, till he almost thought she must be the minister's lady. Her little boy was dressed in a Polish coat, with a cap from which dangled a smart tassel. The little girl, who was just able to toddle, had a boa round her neck; and the brawny country-girl who enacted nursery-maid, seemed to have been tutored into taking as mincing steps as her mistress. Mrs. Otley came to bespeak some handkerchiefs and muffettees like those which Mrs. Parkins, the oracle of fashion in the town of Turnholme, had ordered; and she begged Mrs. Foster's permission to wait at her house till Mr. Otley passed by from market, and would drive her home in "his chaise,"--a term which serves some people to designate every gradation of one-horsed vehicle, from a stanhope to a tax-cart. It was not long before Mr. Otley was seen approaching in the market-cart, which Mrs. Otley denominated his chaise; and she sent the girl to the garden-gate to stop him on his way. The good-natured husband quickly dismounted from his cart, and entered the cottage, fearing something might be the matter. "Why, what's this, Lizzy? You're not ill, to be sure?" "No, my love," answered the lady; "only fatigued with my walk: but do not speak so loud, if you please, my love; you forget my nerves." "Lord bless you, Lizzy, I can't remember those things I know nothing about: but I am sorry you are so troubled with them. I am sure if they are a trouble to you, they are a trouble to me too; for they won't let you do any of the jobs that want doing about a farmhouse. Why, what's this queer bit of a rat's tail you've twisted round little Lizzy's neck?" he continued, laughing, as he held up the child's Lilliputian boa. "Take care, dear Mr. Otley; the poor child will take cold if she is without her boa. Mrs. Foster will think you quite a savage," she continued, in a mincing half-tender tone, to carry off his rough manners. "No, no, she won't," he replied! "Dame Foster knows me of old; and Nicholas, he was the first that taught me how to take a wasp's nest. Do you remember, Nicholas? You had left working for father then; but you were always partial to me, and I remember well you used sometimes to come at after-hours, and help me wasp-nesting, or bat-fowling, or such like." "Ah, Master Otley! you were a smart sprig of a lad, and I always had a liking for you. You always were sharp and active; and when you were quite a child, you would be helping your poor mother when she was busy at her dairy, or her poultry-yard, or when she was particular busy on baking-days."