"Time will show," said Edmund. "I have been in as bad a case as this
ere now, and it is something to be near you all again. So you like
this place, do you? As well as our own home?"

Rose shook her head, and tears sprang into her eyes. "Oh no, Edmund;
I try to think it home, and the children feel it so, but it is not
like Woodley. Do you remember the dear old oak-tree, with the
branches that came down so low, where you used to swing Mary and me?"

"And the high branch where I used to watch for my father coming home
from the justice-meeting. And the meadow where the hounds killed the
fox that had baffled them so long! Do you hear anything of the place
now, Rose?"

"Mr. Enderby told us something," said Rose, sadly. "You know who has
got it, Edmund?"

"Who?

"That Master Priggins, who was once justices' clerk."

"Ha!" cried Edmund. "That pettifogging scrivener in my father's
house!--in my ancestors' house! A rogue that ought to have been
branded a dozen years ago! I could have stood anything but that!
Pretty work he is making there, I suppose! Go on, Rose."

"O Edmund, you know it is but what the King himself has to bear."

"Neighbour's fare! as you say," replied Edmund, with a short dry