And Hubby Dickinson—had he not power in himself, and of himself—to give his boys a holiday? That he had; and when the word was given, ye powers! what a rush was there over benches, and what a scampering for hats; and then the huzza! when the threshold was passed and the plans for fun throughout the livelong day that were formed! Woe worth the world! one owes it a grudge, one is tempted to think, since it hath taken away from our lips the nectared chalice of childhood, and giveth us now, from day to day, no other draught but this unsavoury minglement, wherein one scarcely knows whether the bitterness or the insipidity most prevails! It was but three short miles from Oakham to Hambleton; and Hubby Dickinson's eagerness of desire gave such strength and speed to his limbs that he soon reached the village. "Pray, my good friend," said he to a farmer on horseback, as he entered the place, "can you say where I shall find the singularly endowed youth who is familiarly called Bob Rakeabout, the Noose-larnt?" Poor Hubby! how he stared, and how loftily indignant he felt, when the farmer returned him a broad horse-laugh for an answer, and, setting spurs to his horse, rode away! He was not to be driven from his purpose, however, and put the same question to a pedestrian, next. The man, who was a ditcher with a shovel on his shoulder, touched, or rather nipped, his hat skirts, and asked what the gentleman said; and when he clearly understood that Bob Rakeabout was wanted, his reply was, that he knew not where he would be found, unless at the alehouse. Hubby thanked his informant, but was sure within himself that there was some mistake arising from the man's dulness, for it could not be that a genius of so magnificent a grade as the human being he was seeking could be found loitering in a vulgar alehouse. So on Hubby strode, looking at the ground, and thinking, and thinking,—till, at last, he was accosted by a very dark-visaged and singularly dressed man, who stood by a tent in a lane, on the other side of the village—for the thinker had passed quite through it, unconsciously. "Fine weather, sir," said the man; "you seem to be in a brown study." "Pray, my friend," said Hubby, instantly, "know you one Bob Rakeabout, a singularly gifted youth who, I am informed, hath obtained the significant epithet of the 'Noose-larnt?'" The man took his short black pipe from his mouth, and stared agape for a few seconds, and then said, with a smothered laugh,— "Oh, Bob! Ay, I know him well: he's famous for noose-larning!" Hubby Dickinson's heart leaped within him, and he bounded from the side of the road into the centre of the lane, and, grasping the man's hand, conjured him to lead him to the youth's presence. By this time, three or four more dark faces had gathered at the entrance of the tent. "Come in a bit," said the man to whom the antiquary had addressed himself. And, winking at his companions, the gipsy led Hubby into the tent.