landscape showed soft, sleepy, and warm.

"It's all of a piece," Belward said to himself, glancing from the trim
hedges, the small, perfectly-tilled fields and the smooth roads, to
Ridley Court itself, where many lights were burning and gates opening and
shutting. There was some affair on at the Court, and he smiled to think
of his own appearance among the guests.

"It's a pity I haven't clothes with me, Brillon; they have a show going
there."

He had dropped again into the new form of master and man. His voice was
cadenced, gentlemanly. Jacques pointed to his own saddle-bag.

"No, no, they are not the things needed. I want the evening-dress which
cost that cool hundred dollars in New York."

Still Jacques was silent. He did not know whether, in his new position,
he was expected to suggest. Belward understood, and it pleased him.

"If we had lost the track of a buck moose, or were nosing a cache of
furs, you'd find a way, Brillon."

"Voila," said Jacques; "then, why not wear the buckskin vest, the red-
silk sash, and the boots like these?"--tapping his own leathers. "You
look a grand seigneur so."

"But I am here to look an English gentleman, not a grand seigneur, nor a
company's trader on a break. Never mind, the thing will wait till we
stand in my ancestral halls," he added, with a dry laugh.