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TYLNEY HALL. 67

own road, which, as he walked in the dark, was pretty

sure to be the wrong one. He had been used to activity,

he said, all his life, and could not sit down with his hands

before him and look on. He consequently interfered so

pertinaciously in every rural or domestic act, as to realise

the countryman's description of Garrick, "a little brisk

man, as busy as a bee, and on the stage the whole time."

He had notified to the Baronet, through Dr. Bellamy,

that " as gout prevented the honour of a call at the Hive,

he intended to wave ceremony and drop in himself at the

Hall, to receive congratulations and cetera on coming to

his landed estate." Pay passed after day, however, with-

out bringing the promised visitor, till at last one fine

morning Sir Mark dissolved the doctor's injunction against

horse exercise, and mounting his sorrel hack rode leisurely

over

"

to Hollington to see," as he "

said, whether the

whole swarm had not suffocated themselves in house-

the Hive."

warming

"

Egad," ejaculated Sir Mark, as he looked up at the

emblems which superseded the old eagles, " his bees are

no drones. It's well old Sir Theodore Bowles has got the

dust in his eyes, or a sight like this would raise his hackle.

As I live, too, there's Pompey the Great, in sky blue and

orange, coming to open the gate. Well, Beelzebub, is

your master at kennel, or on the "

pad, hey ?

"

Maybe iss, maybe no, sar," answered Pompey with a

low bow. " Walk dis way, sar," he continued to the

Baronet, who for lack of attendance was fain to cast his

horse's bridle over the gnomon of the sun-dial ;

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