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308 him sternly on the subject. Now she departed, taking her train of daughters with her.

'Give me one big gooseberry,' said Nina, as she squeezed herself in under her brother's arm, prior to making her retreat. Frank would willingly have given her a dozen of the biggest, had she wanted them; but having got the one, she squeezed herself out again and scampered off.

The squire was very cheery this evening; from what cause cannot now be said. Perhaps he had succeeded in negotiating a further loan, thus temporarily sprinkling a drop of water over the ever-rising dust of his difficulties.

'Well, Frank, what have you been after to-day? Peter told me you had the black horse out,' said he, pushing the decanter to his son. 'Take my advice, my boy, and don't give him too much summer road-work. Legs won't stand it, let them be ever so good.'

'Why, sir, I was obliged to go out to-day, and therefore, it had to be either the old mare or the young horse.'

'Why didn't you take Ramble?' Now Ramble was the squire's own saddle hack, used for farm surveying, and occasionally for going to cover.

'I shouldn't think of doing that, sir.'

'My dear boy, he is quite at your service; for goodness' sake do let me have a little wine, Frank—quite at your service; any riding I have now is after the haymakers, and that's all on the grass.'

'Thank'ee, sir. Well, perhaps I will take a turn out of Ramble should I want it.'

'Do, and pray, pray take care of that black horse's legs. He's turning out more of a horse than I took him to be, and I should be sorry to see him injured. Where have you been to-day?'

'Well, father, I have something to tell you.'

'Something to tell me!' and then the squire's happy and gay look, which had been only rendered more happy and more gay by his assumed anxiety about the black horse, gave place to that heaviness of visage which acrimony and misfortune had made so habitual to him. 'Something to tell me!' Any grave words like these always presaged some money difficulty to the squire's ears. He loved Frank with the tenderest love. He would have done so under almost any circumstances; but, doubtless, that love had been made more palpable to himself by the fact that Frank had been a good son as regards money—not exigeant as was Lady Arabella, or selfishly reckless as was his nephew, Lord Porlock. But now Frank must be in difficulty about money. This was his first idea. 'What is it, Frank; you have seldom