men

Dare tell him Dora waited with the child;

And Dora would have risen and gone to him,

But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'd,

And the sun fell, and all the land was dark.

But when the morrow came she rose and took

The child once more, and sat upon the mound;

And made a little wreath of all the flowers

That grew about, and tied it round his hat

To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye.

Then when the farmer pass'd into the field

He spied her, and he left his men at work,

And came and said: "Where were you yesterday?

Whose child is that? What are you doing here?"

So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground, And answer'd softly, "This is Wil

liam's child!"

"And did I not," said Allan, "did I

Upon the threshold. Mary saw the boy Was not with Dora. She broke out in praise

To God, that help'd her in her widowhood.

And Dora said, "My uncle took the boy;

But, Mary, let me live and work with you:

He says that he will never see me more."

Then answer'd Mary, "This shall never be,

That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself:

And, now I think, he shall not have the boy,

For he will teach him hardness, and to slight

His mother; therefore thou and I will go,

And I will have my boy, and bring him home;

And I will beg of him to take thee back:

But if he will not take thee back again, Then thou and I will live within one house,

And work for William's child, until he grows Of age to help us."

So the women kiss'd Each other, and set out, and reach'd the farm.

The door was off the latch: they peep'd, and saw

The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees,

Who thrust him in the hollows of his

stands up

Caught in flagrante what's the Latin word?

Delicto: but his house, for so they say, Was haunted with a jolly ghost, that shook

The curtains, whined in lobbies, tapt at doors,

And rummaged like a rat: no servant stay'd:

The farmer vext packs up his beds and chairs,

And all his household stuff; and with his boy

Betwixt his knees, his wife upon the tilt,

Sets out, and meets a friend who hails him. "What!

You're flitting!" "Yes, we're fitting," says the ghost,

(For they had pack'd the thing among the beds,)

"O well," says he, "you flitting with us too

Jack, turn the horses' heads and home again."

John. He left his wife behind; for so I heard.

James. He left ber, yes. I met my lady once:

A woman like a butt, and harsh as crabs.

John. O yet but I remember, ten years back

'Tis now at least ten years—and then she was

You could not light upon a sweeter thing:

A body slight and round, and like a