So the Mayor went away, and strolled across the fields to his bailiff's cottage, to prepare for the guest it would receive. "It is all very well that the poor man should be away for some days," thought Mr. Hartopp. "Before he comes again, I shall have hit on some plan to serve him; and I can learn more about him from the child in his absence, and see what he is really fit for. There's a schoolmaster wanted in Morley's village. Old Morley wrote to me to recommend him one. Good salary,--pretty house. But it would be wrong to set over young children--recommend to a respectable proprietor and his parson--a man whom I know nothing about. Impossible! that will not do. If there was any place of light service which did not require trust or responsibility,--but there is no such place in Great Britain. Suppose I were to set him up in some easy way of business,--a little shop, eh? I don't know. What would Williams say? If, indeed, I were taken in! if the man I am thus credulously trusting turned out a rogue,"--the Mayor paused and actually shivered at that thought,--"why then, I should be fallen indeed. My wife would not let me have half-a-crown in my pockets; and I could, not walk a hundred yards but Williams would be at my heels to protect me from being stolen by gypsies. Taken in by him! No, impossible! But if it turn out as I suspect,--that, contrary to vulgar prudence, I am divining a really great and good man in difficulties, aha, what a triumph I shall then gain over them all! How Williams will revere me!" The good man laughed aloud at that thought, and walked on with a prouder step. CHAPTER, XXIII. A pretty trifle in its way, no doubt, is the love between youth and youth,--gay varieties of the bauble spread the counter of the great toy-shop; but thou, courteous dame Nature, raise thine arm to yon shelf, somewhat out of every-day reach, and bring me down that obsolete, neglected, unconsidered thing, the love between age and childhood.