my own inn.”  We now ascended to the field, where I showed the postillion his chaise.  He looked at the pin attentively, rubbed his hands, and gave a loud laugh.  “Is it not well done?” said I.  “It will do till I get home,” he replied.  “And that is all you have to say?” I demanded.  “And that’s a good deal,” said he, “considering who made it.  But don’t be offended,” he added, “I shall prize it all the more for its being made by a gentleman, and no blacksmith; and so will my governor, when I show it to him.  I shan’t let it remain where it is, but will keep it, as a remembrance of you, as long as I live.”  He then again rubbed his hands with great glee, and said, “I will now go and see after my horses, and then to breakfast, partner, if you please.”  Suddenly, however, looking at his hands, he said, “Before sitting down to breakfast, I am in the habit of washing my hands and face:  I suppose you could not furnish me with a little soap and water.”  “As much water as you please,” said I, “but if you want soap, I must go and trouble the young gentlewoman for some.”  “By no means,” said the postillion, “water will do at a pinch.”  “Follow me,” said I; and leading him to the pond of the frogs and newts, I said, “This is my ewer; you are welcome to part of it—­the water is so soft that it is scarcely necessary to add soap to it;” then lying down on the bank, I plunged my head into the water, then scrubbed my hands and face, and afterwards wiped them with some long grass which grew on the margin of the pond.  “Bravo,” said the postillion, “I see you know how to make a shift;” he then followed my example, declared he never felt more refreshed in his life, and, giving a bound, said, “he would go and look after his horses.”

We then went to look after the horses, which we found not much the worse for having spent the night in the open air.  My companion again inserted their heads in the corn-bags, and, leaving the animals to discuss their corn, returned with me to the dingle, where we found the kettle boiling.  We sat down, and Belle made tea and did the honours of the meal.  The postillion was in high spirits, ate heartily, and, to Belle’s evident satisfaction, declared that he had never drank better tea in his life, or indeed any half so good.  Breakfast over, he said that he must now go and harness his horses, as it was high time for him to return to his inn.  Belle gave him her hand and wished him farewell:  the postillion shook her hand warmly, and was advancing close up to her—­for what purpose I cannot say—­whereupon Belle, withdrawing her hand, drew herself up with an air which caused the postillion to retreat a step or two with an exceedingly sheepish look.  Recovering himself, however, he made a low bow, and proceeded up the path.  I attended him, and helped to harness his horses and put them to the vehicle; he then shook me by the hand, and taking the reins and whip mounted to his seat; ere he drove away he thus addressed me:  “If ever I forget