"Oh! you'll laugh at me; but--but--I wrote a poem on Guy's Oak, and Mr.
Mainwaring promised to get it into the county paper for me; and as he was
to pass close by the park pales, through the wood yonder, on his way to
D---- last Saturday, we agreed that I should leave it here; but he has
forgotten his promise, I see."

Sir Miles grasped the boy's arm with a convulsive pressure of gratitude.
There was a general cry for Gabriel to read his poem on the spot; but the
boy looked sheepish, and hung down his head, and seemed rather more
disposed to cry than to recite. Sir Miles, with an effort at simulation
that all his long practice of the world never could have nerved him to,
unexcited by a motive less strong than the honour of his blood and house,
came to the relief of the young wit that had just come to his own.

"Nay," he said, almost calmly, "I know our young poet is too shy to
oblige you. I will take charge of your verses, Master Gabriel;" and with
a grave air of command, he took the letter from the boy and placed it in
his pocket.

The return to the house was less gay than the visit to the oak. The
baronet himself made a feverish effort to appear blithe and debonair as
before; but it was not successful. Fortunately, the carriages were all
at the door as they reached the house, and luncheon being over, nothing
delayed the parting compliments of the guests. As the last carriage
drove away, Sir Miles beckoned to Gabriel, and bade him follow him into
his room.

When there, he dismissed his valet and said,--

"You know, then, who wrote this letter. Have you been in the secret of