"Nay, nay," cried Sir Thomas, "we cannot spare you yet. You must think us very unfeeling if, after your terrible loss, you are not almost forced to stay here and recover. Not a word more, Sir Mark, not a word."

Sir Mark, however, endeavoured to put in several words, but was checked by his host, who left him afterwards, strutting away with a fat smile upon his countenance, and a belief in his heart that he had been doing some very hospitable act, Mistress Anne's commands being for the time entirely forgotten.

"That is settled then," said Sir Mark, as he kneaded a fresh piece of paste for the carp. "Perhaps in a few weeks I may find out some way of raising money, that is, when my heart has grown less sore."

He threw out his bait, and then settled himself with his back against a tree, to take a quiet nap, when, in a sheltered nook, where four huge hawthorns formed a kind of bower, he once more saw Mistress Anne busily reading, and, thinking that he ought to tell her of his intention to stay, he rose to saunter to her side.

Volume 3, Chapter IX.

HOW MASTER PEASEGOOD SAID HIS PRAYERS AND PAID A VISIT.

There was a deep, singular humming sound coming from the open window of Master Peasegood's cottage, and, as this noise passed through the big cherry-tree, it seemed to be broken up like a wind through a hedge, and to be somewhat softened. A stranger would not have known what it was, unless he had listened very attentively; and then he would have found that it was Master Peasegood saying his prayers.

"Sum--sum--sum--sum--sum--sum--sum--sum." It sounded like a gigantic bumble-bee. Then a few distinct words. Then "sum--sum--sum--sum--sum,"

again; and you would hear, "Lead us not into temptation'--sum--sum-- sum--especially with strong ales--sum--sum--sum--sum--sum--oh! Lord, I am so fleshly and so fat--sum--sum--sum--sum--I cannot do as I preach-- sum--sum--sum--sum--I am a sadly hardened and weak man, oh! Lord--sum-- sum--sum--sum; but I try to live at peace, and do to others as I would they should do unto me--sum--sum--sum--sum--Amen. Mistress Hilberry, I'm going out. Bring me my ale."

Master Peasegood was refreshed in mind, and proceeded to refresh himself in body, feeling at peace with the whole world, including Mother Goodhugh and all her works.

Mistress Hilberry came in, looking sour, but, as her eyes lit on the jovial face before her, some of its amiability was reflected back upon her own; and, finally, as the stout parson drank up his great jug of ale with the heartiest of enjoyment, she almost smiled.

"How thou dost take to thy ale!" she said.

"Ay, how naturally we do take to all bad habits, Mistress Hilberry; but a man cannot be perfect, and the possession of one wicked little devil may keep out seven devils, all much worse. I don't think it would be right to be quite good, Mistress Hilberry, so I take my ale."

"If thou never take nothing worse, master," said Mistress Hilberry--who was in a good temper--"thou wilt do;" and she seized the empty vessel and went out.

"Hah!" sighed Master Peasegood, taking his pipe off the mantel-piece, and looking at it ruefully, "I talked to her about one little devil, and, lo! here is another. That makes two who possess me, if King Jamie's right. I'll just have a little of the devilish weed before I go out. Nay, resist the devil, and he will flee from thee. Go, little devil, back to thy place, and let's see what our good Protestant King does say."

He put back the pipe, and took from his scantily-furnished shelves a copy of his Majesty's Counterblast against Tobacco, seated himself comfortably, and began to read.

Master Peasegood's countenance was a study: for what he read did not seem to agree with him. He frowned, he pursed up his lips, he nodded, he shook his head; and at last, after half-an-hour's study, he dashed the book down upon the floor, doubled his fist, and brought it heavily upon the table.

"If this book had not been written by our sovereign lord, James the First, by the Grace of God King of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, as it says in the dedication to my Bible--and what a thumping lie it is--I should say that it was the work of one of the silliest, most dunder-headed, and bumble-brained fools who ever walked God's earth.

Tchah, tchah, tchah, tchah. I don't believe the pipe's a little devil after all.

"Here! I must be off," he said, with a sigh. "There's work to be done.

I'll go see my poor old friend Cobbe, and try and comfort him in his trouble.

"Nay, I will not; it will be like running right into temptation. He'll bring out pipes and ale.

"But he is in trouble sore, and I have not been of late. I must go--

"'Into temptation.'

"Nay, it cannot be into temptation, for it is to do good works. The ale is not a devil of possession, after all.

"Mistress Hilberry, I'm going down to Jeremiah Cobbe, if any one should call."

"All right, master," she said; and the stout parson rolled out, and sauntered down to the cottage the founder occupied now.

"Ah! Master Cobbe," he cried, "I've been remiss in visiting you these last few weeks, but I'm glad to see thee look so well."

"Well? Master Peasegood," said the founder, sadly. "Nay, I am not well. Perhaps I am, though--perhaps I am. I have been busy lately, very busy. A goodly store of cannon and ammunition has been sent off to his Majesty this past week."

"Ay, so I hear," said the parson.

"But sit down, man. Hey, Mrs Croftly, bring a flagon of ale and the pipes and tobacco. Master Peasegood will sit down here in the garden with me this evening."

"That I will," was the hearty response.

A table was placed on one side, and the two friends sat down, drank heartily to one another, and then filled, lit their pipes, and smoked in silence for awhile.

"There's a nice view from here, Master Cobbe," said the parson at last.

"Ay, there is," said the founder; and a longing painful look came upon his deeply-lined face, as he thrust back his rough, white hair and sighed.

"A very pretty view. You like this spot?"

"Yes," said the founder, slowly, as he pointed with the stem of his little pipe to an opening in the forest beyond the ruins of the Pool-house. "Do you see yon patch of rock where the martins have made their nests?"

"Surely, surely," said Master Peasegood.

"There is a good-sized hole there, friend Peasegood."

"Yes, I see," said Master Peasegood, nodding, "though my eyes are not what they were."

"That place was made by the shell fired from my big howitzer when my poor girl applied the match."

"Poor child!" said Master Peasegood, sadly, and for some time the two men sat and smoked in silence.

"Shall you ever build up the house again, Master Cobbe?" said the parson at last.

The founder turned upon him almost fiercely, and seemed about to utter some angry word; but he calmed down, took the parson's fat hand in his, shook it, and released it.

"Nay," he said, "let it rest; let it rest."

"I did not want to hurt your feelings, Master Cobbe," said the parson; "but I thought it would be better for it and for thee. You must be growing richer than before."

"Yes; and what good is it?" said the founder, bitterly. "Of what use is money to me? I only work and toil to keep my mind at rest. Nay, nay, I cannot build the old place up; let it be. Besides," he added dryly, "Mother Goodhugh says it is cursed."

"Hang Mother Goodhugh--or burn her," cried the parson impetuously. "A wicked, cursing, old hag. She had better mend her ways, or Sir Thomas will be laying her by the heels. He swore he would months ago, but I persuaded him not. She had been following and abusing Mistress Anne."

"Ay, poor soul--poor soul, she is mad from her grief, and it makes her curse. Ah! parson, many's the time I could have gone about cursing too.

Poor soul--poor soul! let her rest."

"I see you have been very busy with the garden again."

"Ay; it is getting to be what it was. The trees have shot forth once more, and the flowers bloom. She loved that garden, parson--dearly."