"That was Plinny--Miss Plinlimmon, I mean. You didn't catch sight of
my father--Major Brooks?"

"No, I didn't. But I stopped to pass the time o' day with the
landlord of the Seven Stars Inn, a mile along the road, and there I
heard about 'en. So you're Major Brooks's son? Well, then, by all
accounts you've got a thunderin' good father. Old English gentleman,
straight is a ramrod--pays his way, fears God and honours the King--
such was the landlord's words; and he told me the cottage, as you
call it, was rented at twenty-five pounds a year, with a walled
garden an' a paddock thrown in, which I call dirt cheap."

"I don't see that it's any business of yours what my father pays for
his house!" said I, my flush of pleasure changing to one of
annoyance.

I glanced round for Captain Coffin's support, but he had walked
indoors, no doubt in despair of Mr. Goodfellow's loquacity.

"No?" queried Mr. Goodfellow. "No, I dare say not; but you just wait
till you fall in love. It's a most curious feelin'. First of all it
makes you want to pull off your coat and turn a hand to anything,
from breakin' stones to playing the fiddle--it don't matter what, so
long as you sweat an' feel you're earnin' money. Why, just take a
look at my business card!" He stepped to his coat, pulled one from
his pocket, and glanced over it proudly: 'George Goodfellow,
Carpenter and Decorater--Cabinet Making in all its Branches--Repairs
neatly executed--Funerals and Shipping supplied--Practical Valuer,
and for Probate--Fire Office claims prepared and adjusted--Good