occasion of John Hardy's starting on the afternoon preceding the day named for the meeting with the mysterious stranger; for mysterious he was, as he briefly alleged his inability of meeting John an inch upon the road, without assigning any reason, and stated, that unless John came alone, he might as well save himself the trouble and inconvenience of the journey, as he would see no one and learn nothing.

After many conferences and cogitations with the Squire, in secret conclave-for neither Tom Hope, nor a creature-not even a sharpeared mouse in the wainscot could catch a murmured syllable-was allowed to know the object of John's departure-it was decided that he should, mounted on Blossom, like a knighterrant of old, start, without giving any account of himself; and confide in chance or destiny for any adventure, good, bad, or indifferent, that might befal him.

CHAPTER IX.

Now all around the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson's saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow.

It was very cold; every puddle was glazed with ice; and the road, as hard as adamant, caused Blossom's hoofs to clank loudly, as he trotted briskly-that is to say, briskly for one so sluggish of action-down a long narrow lane leading into the highway. Every now and then, a blackbird, a mavis, or a robin fluttered from the leafless hedge, scared from their retreat by his approach; but no other sounds were to be heard, and nothing else was to be seen, as John bumped alone and disconsolately on his journey. John Hardy felt sad

at heart, for he entertained misgivings, distrust, and evil forebodings of the result of his mission: and he, as the daylight drew in, wished that he had started earlier; and all kinds of unpleasant ideas took possession of his reflective faculties. Like the schoolboy, with slate and satchel, going home through the lone churchyard, and whistling on his way to drive the fear of ghost and goblin from his thoughts, John began to devise plans of ejecting the bluedevils; and, as a preface to his work, he commenced chanting-as well as the smothering scarlet comforter would permit- the hundredth psalm. But a few bars of that cheerful composition had been accomplished, when he was interrupted from proceeding with it by the sudden crash of brambles, twigs, and boughs; and the figure of Mike Crouch standing abruptly before him in the road, not a couple of yards from Blossom's Roman proboscis.

"Your servant, Sir," said Mike, doffing the battered, bruised, and flattened rim of a hat.

Upon my life!" exclaimed John, managing by a great effort to regain liberty of speech. "Upon my life!" repeated he, shaking his head, "you run a great risk, Mike, in coming upon me so unawares. Don't you see that I carry loaded pistols?" and as John extracted one from the holster-a great yawning brass barrel weapon, looking like a first cousin to a blunderbuss, and held it perpendicularly above his head, so that it might do no mischief by any accident whatever, he looked like a man very much to be dreaded-very much, indeed; at least so John Hardy thought.

"An' it may please your honour!" replied Mike, respectfully, "I'm not frightened at a -" it is believed, but there are no solid proofs in support of the creed, that Mike was about to complete the sentence by "scarecrow." In fine, however, he avoided so obnoxious a conclusion, and added, after a pause, "gentleman."

"But, don't you see," rejoined John, re

placing the pistol in the holster, "I might have taken ye for a footpad, highway robber, or something of that sort? and then, if I had made a snap shot at the impulse of the moment, perhaps, Mike," and John Hardy spoke slowly and impressively, "you would have been sent to your last account, without much time for reckoning the audit."

"I might, certainly, Sir, by accident,” returned Mike, jerking his hat on the tip of his nose, and placing much emphasis on the completion of the sentence.

"You doubt the correctness of my aim," added John; "but I'd have you remember that you were a sitting-no, a standing shot. And when do I miss a hare in her form, a rabbit rubbing his nose, or cropping clover in the evening on the verge of the coverts, or, indeed, any such, what I call fair marks?"

"Very seldom, Sir," responded Mike, in that doubtful accent which left the qualified. negative in a very equivocal condition.