Sally Hancock was nothing loth; she shouldered her stick with the air of a corporal, and both ladies startled their companions by uttering a loud and protracted huzza. Tom Pynsent answered the shout. His body was half way through the carriage window, as he continued waving and hurraing to the scene before him. At last the carriage drew up, and Mrs. Pynsent's arms once more encircled her darling son. She hung round his neck entranced. "My blessed Tom, my only and sweet boy, your poor mother is happy to get you back again. The dogs and colts, Tom, are well; the hounds all well, my Tommy. Your poor mother has looked well after them. And there's your father, waiting, Tom, to shake hands--and here's Sally Hancock!" Mrs. Pynsent withdrew her arms reluctantly, and her son advanced to shake hands with his father. Mr. Pynsent's mild countenance shone with pleasure as he congratulated him upon his return, and confessed how much he had missed his society. Tom Pynsent was in tearing spirits at finding himself upon Hatton ground, listening to affectionate speeches delivered in pure English again. He shook hands with every one, and saluted every lady. "How do you all do? How do you do, my fat aunt, Hancock? How do you do, Pen? Why, Spottiswoode, have you waited for me to be your bridegroom's man? How do you do, Sir John? I have brought home my little woman, quite rosy, you see--here she is. So, little Miss with the long name, how are you? Upon my soul, you all look 'grass!'" Tom Pynsent held his hand to his mouth, and turned again to the hall-door. "Tally-ho, there!--bring 'em round, Barton!" The saddled horse was trotted up, and Tom Pynsent sprang upon his back. He waved his hand to the company. "I use no ceremony.--One gallop round the park, and I'll be amongst you again. Tally-ho, there. Tally-ho!" The mettled steed plunged and reared under the tightened rein, while his master spoke; but, in an instant, he dashed from the door, and the horse and his rider were seen flying down the park, followed by the whole complement of dogs and attendants. Mrs. Pynsent gazed after her son with proud delight. "I say, Bobby, there he goes! Didn't I tell you he would love to see his dogs round him? Bless him, his mother knew his tastes. There's his little wife gone off with her father! She does not stay to look at Tom. _She_ doesn't care for his whims, Sally Hancock--how should a Wetheral care for any thing?--I don't, and I can't, abide a woman who is indifferent to Tom's whims." "Don't mob the Wetherals, Pen; it's only the old lady: _they_ can't help their mother." "How well Tom sits a horse!" continued Mrs. Pynsent, who could not withdraw her eyes, or mind, from one object, for a moment. "There he goes, neck or nothing!" Mr. Pynsent reminded his lady that Anna Maria was in the drawing-room, and that she had scarcely welcomed her. Mrs. Pynsent snapped her fingers.