1st Rustic. "But, la! bless ye, he don't vally advice, he don't."

George Fielding groaned out, "I'm ready to go now--I'm quite ready to
go--I am leaving a nest of insults;" and he darted into the house, as
much to escape the people's eyes as to finish his slight preparations
for so great a journey.

Two men were left alone; sulky William and respectable Meadows. Both
these men's eyes followed George into the house, and each had a strong
emotion they were bent on concealing, and did conceal from each other;
but was it concealed from all the world?

The farm-house had two rooms looking upon the spot where most of our
tale has passed.

The smaller one of these was a little state parlor, seldom used by the
family. Here on a table was a grand old folio Bible; the names,
births, and deaths of a century of Fieldings appeared in rusty ink and
various handwritings upon its fly-leaf.

Framed on the walls were the first savage attempts of woman at
worsted-work in these islands. There were two moral commonplaces, and
there was the forbidden fruit-tree, whose branches diverged, at set
distances like the radii of a circle, from its stem, a perpendicular
line; exactly at the end of each branch hung one forbidden
fruit--pre-Raphaelite worsted-work.

There were also two prints of more modern date, one agricultural, one
manufactural.