By ten o’clock the next morning he was again at Ashburn Priory; signed the deed relinquishing all claim upon the entailed estates; shook hands cordially with the rich man who was thus scheming to defraud him; and started with a light heart, and still lighter purse, to carry his own carpet-bag seven miles to the railroad. About a mile from the station, a pony-chaise overtook him, driven by a stout serving-lad, and containing two gentlemanly-looking boys, dressed in mourning, and a ponderous trunk, carefully corded and directed. As this vehicle approached, Ernest, who had walked fast, paused to wipe his brow, at the same time resting his carpet-bag--which he had carried on a stick over his shoulder--upon the top of the last milestone. The elder of the two boys regarded him attentively; then whispered something to the younger, who nodded and smiled in reply; making a sign to the driver to stop, the elder boy, addressing Ernest, began-- “I beg your pardon, sir, but you seem tired: we are going to the Flatville station, and have a vacant seat at your service, if you please to accept it.” “I will with the greatest pleasure,” returned Ernest, “if you are sure we shall not overweight the pony.” “Oh, you needn’t be afraid--you need not be in the least afraid of that, sir,” interposed the younger boy confidently. “Samson can draw us; Samson is as strong as----” “His Israelitish namesake, perhaps,” suggested Ernest, placing his carpet-bag on the top of the trunk, and springing lightly into the pony-chaise. “Well, _I_ was going to say, as strong as the Elephant and Castle,” remarked the younger boy, with a look of profound sagacity; “but, perhaps, the original Samson will do as well. What do you say, Percy?” “I say that you are an absurd little chatterbox, Hugh, and I have little doubt the gentleman thinks so too,” returned his brother,--for the reader need scarcely read the direction on the trunk, albeit written in Percy’s plainest hand, to inform him that the boys were the two young Colvilles, then leaving home for the first time in their lives. The parting had been a trying scene for all the persons concerned; and poor Hugh had only just recovered from the hearty cry, in which even his incipient manly dignity could not preserve him from indulging, when they overtook Ernest. “A chatterbox, perhaps, but not an absurd one,” was the good-natured reply. “I feel particularly interested about the pony, I can assure you; have you had him long? I daresay he is a-great favourite.” This speech, which was addressed to. Hugh, was too much for the poor little fellow’s fortitude, and, after a vain struggle to repress them, his scarcely dried tears sprang forth anew. Percy threw his arm around him, and drew him affectionately to his side, as he said, in an explanatory whisper, “He is going to school for the first time, sir; and before he comes back, the pony we are so fond of must be sold.”