pity with a face crimson with mortification | glance with that proud, defiant look which I had before noticed, and which gave to the or anger. 'I am not hurt," said he, with almost a whole countenance a singularly striking exdefiant air. pression. "Business here, have you?" remarked I, not without a feeling of the absurd pretension of the boy, and yet as if not wishing to pry into his concerns. "And you are disappointed in not finding some acquaintance here? That is it, is it not?" "No," returned he; "I never was at ance, Kirkton." This was very strange. "If you don't know Kirkton," said I, "then where do you come from?" "Manchester," replied he. Manchester! that was upward of a hundred miles off. I understood now why he could not slide: he had lived all his days in a close town where there was no ice to slide on. "And what brought you from Manchester to this country-place?" I asked. "Have you friends here?" 66 "I never said anything about acquaintsaid he; "I have no acquaintance." "But friends, then?" said I, thinking that he merely quibbled about the word. "I don't know," returned he, shortly, and, stepping from the ice to the bank, seemed disposed to leave both me and the waterside. But I was not going to let him so escape. I followed him, and we walked together along the fields toward the lane. By dint of close inquiry, I found he had been but a few days in the village; that he had walked most of the way from Manchester, getting only occasional lifts in carts or wagons on the road. He "I don't think I have," was his somewhat did not beg, he said, proudly; he should never singular reply. "Did you expect to find friends here?” "I don't know," said he, shortly. I was at once convinced that he had something to conceal, and suspicions unfavorable to him entered my mind. Perhaps he was a thief. beg. He wanted to get work in the village. He lodged at Widow Marshall's, and she had promised to get him some winding to do. The boy is a riddle to me. I shall make inquiries from Widow Marshall respecting him. as usual. 19th.-Went down to Widow Marshall's "How came you to leave your friends in this morning; found her busy in her frame. Manchester?" I asked. She is an industrious woman. Fell into talk with her about old times, when she mentioned that this was her birthday. She is now sixty-five-the age of my mother the day she died. The poor cannot keep birthdays, nor do they often "I had business here," said he, in the cool tone of one who seems determined to be incommunicative. My suspicions were the more confirmed. I looked keenly at the boy, and he met my receive birthday presents; but for my beloved parent's sake I sent her a hundredweight of coals, a loaf of bread, two ounces of tea and half a pound of sugar. This little act made me happier than if I had kept my own birthday twice over. Widow Marshall could not tell me much about the strange boy. She takes in wellrecommended travellers to lodge in her house, and somebody, she imagines, must have sent the boy to her; but she cannot make out who, for he seems of a very reserved disposition. She had nothing to say against him, however, and she is a woman with a keen insight into character and not disposed to think too well of the class of people she has to deal with. He had thirteenpence-halfpenny in his pocket when he came to her. He told her that he wanted to get work, but she could not imagine what could make him leave a thriving place like Manchester, where everybody had plenty to do, for a poor out-of-the-way place like Moreton, unless it was that he was a lad of roving disposition and no place came amiss to him. This is likely enough to be the case. She said she had got some winding for him to do this morning, but he had now set off to Kirkton; and why he would go there she could not tell. She said he came back last night full of Kirkton and the old hall there; and when she told him that it belonged to Squire Jellico, as well as Moreton Hall though he did not live there any more than at Moreton-and that it was an old tumbledown place, he seemed quite excited about it and said he should set off and have a look at it. So off he went this morning without a bit of breakfast, and she couldn't think what he could be after. Begging it couldn't be, nor picking and stealing, for there was noth ing to be got in a poor place like Kirkton. However, when he came back, there was the winding for him to do if he liked; and if not,, he must look out for other quarters, as he had come to the end of his money last Saturday night and she couldn't afford to keep him for nothing. He was a queer sort of chap, she said; there was something very deep about him: she couldn't make him out. Sometimes she thought he'd been used to bettermost sorts of people, and then again he seemed almost soft. He was desperately taken with the ice, and yet he couldn't slide a bit; for her part, she should have thought Manchester lads must be used to ice. She shouldn't wonder but that he was again to the ponds, and that going to Kirkton was all a pretence. I walked down to the ponds on this suggestion of Mrs. Marshall's. The boys of the village were sliding, but our stranger (Widow Marshall did not know his name further than it was Charley) was not there. gone The wind has changed to-day, and there is every appearance of the frost going. It has lasted already fifteen days. I warned my boys to keep out of danger, and then walked on to Kirkton; but I saw nothing of the strange boy. I did not make inquiries from the old woman at the Hall, as the dog there is very fierce and I did not think it likely the boy would venture in. Called on my friend Mr. Gardner, and, though it was early in the afternoon, drank a dish of tea with him, which he obligingly ordered on my account. Have not seen him since the death of Mr. Jellico's son, who was boarded with him. The poor child was just turned of ten when he died. He was a boy of but small capacity, though of most prom pity with a face crimson with mortification | glance with that proud, defiant look which I had before noticed, and which gave to the or anger. "I am not hurt," said he, with almost a whole countenance a singularly striking exdefiant air. pression. The lad was handsome at that moment, and I seemed to recognize his countenance; I thought he was one of the Welds of Kirkton, and said so. "Kirkton!" said he; "where's that?" 66 'You must know Kirkton," said I-" the next village?" "Business here, have you?" remarked I, not without a feeling of the absurd pretension of the boy, and yet as if not wishing to pry into his concerns. "And you are disappointed in not finding some acquaintance here? That is it, is it not?" "I never said anything about acquaint "No," returned he; "I never was at ance," said he; "I have no acquaintance.” Kirkton." "But friends, then?" said I, thinking that he merely quibbled about the word. "I don't know," returned he, shortly, and, stepping from the ice to the bank, seemed disposed to leave both me and the waterside. But I was not going to let him so escape. I followed him, and we walked together along the fields toward the lane. By dint of close inquiry, I found he had been but a few days in the village; that he had walked most of the way from Manchester, getting only occasional lifts in carts or wagons on the road. He “I don't think I have," was his somewhat did not beg, he said, proudly; he should never singular reply. "Did you expect to find friends here?" "I don't know," said he, shortly. beg. He wanted to get work in the village. He lodged at Widow Marshall's, and she had promised to get him some winding to do. The boy is a riddle to me. I shall make inquiries from Widow Marshall respecting him. I was at once convinced that he had something to conceal, and suspicions unfavorable to him entered my mind. Perhaps he was a thief. 19th.-Went down to Widow Marshall's "How came you to leave your friends in this morning; found her busy in her frame, Manchester?" I asked. "I had business here," said he, in the cool tone of one who seems determined to be incommunicative. My suspicions were the more confirmed. I looked keenly at the boy, and he met my as usual. She is an industrious woman. Fell into talk with her about old times. when she mentioned that this was her birthday. She is now sixty-five-the age of my mother the day she died. The poor cannot keep birthdays, nor do they often receive birthday presents; but for my beloved parent's sake I sent her a hundredweight of coals, a loaf of bread, two ounces of tea and half a pound of sugar. This little act made me happier than if I had kept my own birthday twice over. Widow Marshall could not tell me much about the strange boy. She takes in wellrecommended travellers to lodge in her house, and somebody, she imagines, must have sent the boy to her; but she cannot make out who, for he seems of a very reserved disposition. She had nothing to say against him, however, and she is a woman with a keen insight into character and not disposed to think too well of the class of people she has to deal with. He had thirteenpence-halfpenny in his pocket when he came to her. He told her that he wanted to get work, but she could not imagine what could make him leave a thriving place like Manchester, where everybody had plenty to do, for a poor out-of-the-way place like Moreton, unless it was that he was a lad of roving disposition and no place came amiss to him. This is likely enough to be the case. She said she had got some winding for him to do this morning, but he had now set off to Kirkton; and why he would go there she could not tell. She said he came back last night full of Kirkton and the old hall there; and when she told him that it belonged to Squire Jellico, as well as Moreton Hall though he did not live there any more than at Moreton-and that it was an old tumbledown place, he seemed quite excited about it and said he should set off and have a look at it. So off he went this morning without a bit of breakfast, and she couldn't think what he could be after. Begging it couldn't be, nor picking and stealing, for there was noth ing to be got in a poor place like Kirkton. However, when he came back, there was the winding for him to do if he liked; and if not,, he must look out for other quarters, as he had come to the end of his money last Saturday night and she couldn't afford to keep him for nothing. He was a queer sort of chap, she said; there was something very deep about him: she couldn't make him out. Sometimes she thought he'd been used to bettermost sorts of people, and then again he seemed almost soft. He was desperately taken with the ice, and yet he couldn't slide a bit; for her part, she should have thought Manchester lads must be used to ice. She shouldn't wonder but that he was again to the ponds, and that going to Kirkton was all a pretence. I walked down to the ponds on this suggestion of Mrs. Marshall's. The boys of the village were sliding, but our stranger (Widow Marshall did not know his name further than it was Charley) was not there. gone The wind has changed to-day, and there is every appearance of the frost going. It has lasted already fifteen days. I warned my boys to keep out of danger, and then walked on to Kirkton; but I saw nothing of the strange boy. I did not make inquiries from the old woman at the Hall, as the dog there is very fierce and I did not think it likely the boy would venture in. Called on my friend Mr. Gardner, and, though it was early in the afternoon, drank a dish of tea with him, which he obligingly ordered on my account. Have not seen him since the death of Mr. Jellico's son, who was boarded with him. The poor child was just turned of ten when he died. He was a boy of but small capacity, though of most prom ising disposition, and his death seems to have been a great trial to my friend. He had a fine salary with him, the effects of which are evident in his library. His collection of philological works is now very valuable. He showed me a present he received from Squire Jellico-the Works of Jeremy Taylor, in eight volumes, finely printed and bound in Russia, and which were sent to him as a compliment after the boy's death. I grieve to hear that the unhappiness between the squire and his lady still continues. A divorce is now spoken of, but I hope it will not proceed so far; and yet no quarrels are so hard to make up as those between married people when they have once become public. There are fine points in the squire's character, and many good things are told of his lady yet a fatal something-nobody rightly knows what, though there are many surmises—seems to have sundered them for ever. This led us to speak of an unhappy event which occurred just before I came to Moreton, and which was, in fact, the cause of my coming at all; and, as I have not alluded to it hitherto in these pages, I may as well mention it now. loncello and the harpsichord, and was consequently made church-organist, for he had a great turn for music. Not many years after he came to Moreton his wife died, leaving him one child, a daughter. As the father was so much favored by the squire, the little girl-Alice was her name-was taken great notice of by old Miss Gadsby. who lived at Kirkton Hall; for the old squire married the elder Miss Gadsby, who with her sister was coheirship of Kirkton, and who inhabited the Hall till the time of her death, some eight or nine years ago. when it came into the hands of the present Squire Jellico. Squire Jellico. Well, little Alice Day, as I said, being motherless, was much noticed by old Miss Gadsby, and received through her means a better education than was suited to her station, and when she grew up to be about seventeen or eighteen was reckoned one of the greatest beauties in all the country. The old man her father was prodigiously proud of her; and when the young squire then about three or four and twenty-came home from college, he unfortunately set admiring eyes on her. He used to spend a deal of time at Kirkton; but his father, who had become, as it were, stupid with free living, and the old lady, who was nearly blind, suspected nothing. It soon became the talk of both Kirkton and Moreton; and Mr. Day-poor man! My predecessor at Moreton grammar-school was one Mr. Nathaniel Day; he came from somewhere in the North and was a favorite of the rector and squire: it was the old squire then; he was therefore nominated to the grammar-school, on which occasion the sal--who flattered himself that he should one ary was raised from thirty to fifty pounds a year and two additional rooms built to the schoolhouse, which made it much more comfortable. He was no great hand at teaching, however, as the last generation, I think, proves; but he cultivated flowers with much success and played both on the vio of these days see his daughter mistress of the Hall, shut his eyes willingly to all that went forward, and every evening after schoolhours went up to the Hall to play at cards with the old gentleman and help the butler to get him to bed; for he was mostly drunk by that time. From one of these drunken |