Carew--the old lady, I mean--was at Crompton then; and the young
one--though she was no chicken neither--she tried to get her turned out;
but she wasn't clever enough, clever as she was, for that job. Carew
loved his mother, as indeed he ought, for she had never denied him any
thing since he was born; and so, in that pitched battle between the
women, he took his mother's side. And in the end the old lady took his,
and with a vengeance. I do think that if it had not been for her, young
madam would have held on--Why, what's the matter, young gentleman? That
was an oath fit for the mouth of Squire hisself."

"It's this cursed toothache," exclaimed Yorke, passionately. "It has
worried me so ever since you began to speak that I should have gone mad
if I had not let out at it a bit. Never mind me; I'm better now."

"Well, that's like the Squire again," returned the keeper, admiringly.
"He seems allus to find hisself better for letting out at things, and at
people too, for the matter of that. To hear him sometimes, one would
almost think the ground must open; not that he means any harm, but it's
a way he's got; but it does frighten them as is not used to him, surely.
I mind that day when he first took the fox-hounds out, and Mr. Howard
the sheriff as was that year--he's dead and gone long since, and his
grandson is sheriff now again, which is cur'ous--well, he happened to
ride a bit too forward with the dogs, and our young master--Oh dear,
dear," and the old man began to chuckle like a hen that has laid two
eggs at a time, "how he did swear at the old man!"

"You were talking about Mrs. Carew the elder," observed the artist,
coolly.

"Was I? True, so I was. Well, she and the young Squire was for all the