"That man has evidently seen a good deal of the world," said John,
smiling; "I wonder what the world is like!"

"Did you not see something of it as a child?"

"Only the worst and lowest side; not the one I want to see now. What
business do you think that Mr. Charles is? A clever man, anyhow; I
should like to see him again."

"So should I."

Thus talking at intervals and speculating upon our new acquaintance,
we strolled along till we came to a spot called by the country
people, "The Bloody Meadow," from being, like several other places in
the neighbourhood, the scene of one of those terrible slaughters
chronicled in the wars of the Roses. It was a sloping field, through
the middle of which ran a little stream down to the meadow's end,
where, fringed and hidden by a plantation of trees, the Avon flowed.
Here, too, in all directions, the hay-fields lay, either in green
swathes, or tedded, or in the luxuriously-scented quiles. The lane
was quite populous with waggons and hay-makers--the men in their
corduroys and blue hose--the women in their trim jackets and bright
calamanco petticoats. There were more women than men, by far, for
the flower of the peasant youth of England had been drafted off to
fight against "Bonyparty." Still hay-time was a glorious season,
when half our little town turned out and made holiday in the
sunshine.

"I think we will go to a quieter place, John. There seems a crowd
down in the meadow; and who is that man standing on the hay-cart, on