Louth, sixty years ago, as now, was the handsomest as well as the largest town in the north of Lincolnshire, though you would not then have seen in it, as you may now, if you go that way, a dashing mail-coach, with a dashing red-coated and gold-laced guard, dash off and dash in daily to and from Rasen, and Gainsborough, and Sheffield. "Long" Ludforth, too—(they spell it "Ludford" on the maps; but, doubtless, they who live there know better the name of the place than your mere map-makers!)—Long Ludforth, too, was nearly as deserving of its name, then, as now. And, in default of all other means of conveyance for goods and passengers, Davy Lidgitt, the carrier, traversed the ten miles of distance between the village and market-town "every Wednesday and Saturday—twice a week, regular," as the inscription read on the front of his neat tilted cart; for your new-fangled way of sticking the carrier's name on one side of his vehicle had not then been invented by the tax-making gentry at head-quarters. Davy Lidgitt was excelled in diligence and punctuality by never a carrier, even in those diligent and punctual times, and gained the universal respect of his employers, and, what was of more solid value, a neat little independence, to boot, as the reward of his life of industry and uprightness. Davy,—it should be "Old Davy;" for that was the name by which he was known for the greater part of his public life,—Old Davy would have felt himself to be a happy man could he have regarded young Davy, his son, as one who was likely to tread, morally as well as physically, in his steps. But Old Davy Lidgitt, like all other mortals, lacked the single ingredient in his cup which could give it the power of making his bliss complete on this side the grave. Not that young Davy was idle, or profligate, or devoid of wit, according to some people's acceptation of the term. In fact, the majority of the plain villagers of Long Ludforth agreed that, "if aught, young Davy Lidgitt had ower much wit for one of his calling." And, for activity, few could match young Davy. From a mere child he aspired to wield his father's long whip, and at ten years old could manage the brown mare and the black horse that composed the carrier's team as well as Old Davy himself could manage them. Moreover, he was always to be found about the cart or the stable, at the market-town, when the goods were delivered, and could never be tempted to spend either his time, health, or money at the ale-tap. Up to the age of five-and-twenty,—when Old Davy, at sixty, fully retired to enjoy the brief remnant of life in the snug but small cottage he had purchased,—young Davy had not failed to accompany his father as regularly as Wednesday and Saturday returned in each week to Louth and back, attending so rigidly and cleverly to every item of parcel and package, letter and message, that the villagers would one and all declare "young Davy Lidgitt had a head like an almanack!"