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"It is, indeed," said Sylvester, "a beautiful morning."

"Barleys want rain, sir."

"You have not yet been able to get much barley in, have you?"

"Not get it in, sir! What not here the latter end of May!"

"They haven't got much barley in, about here," observed Quocks.

"What, not barley?"

"No, not barley. Look at the drought we've had. How could they get it in? The land's as dry and hard as the road."

Sylvester called for a glass of ale, which Mrs. Legge brought with a most winning smile.

"Is that the way you means to cook his goose?" whispered Pokey.

"Stop a bit, my Briton," replied Obadiah; "you'll know more about it, my boy, by-and-bye. He who deals with a deep 'un, must be deep himself: you can't get all out of a spy in a hurry. The drought, sir, I believe, has been pretty general," he added, turning to Sylvester; "how are the wheats in your part of the country?"

"That which I saw along the road looked well."

"The heavy-land wheats about here don't look so much amiss, but those on the light lands are perished. Which road, sir, do you allude to?"

"The road between here and London."

"Oh, London! Ah, exactly. Didn't I tell you so?" he added, turning to Pokey; "I'd have bet ten to one of it! I knew what he was, the very moment I saw him. I don't want to look at a man twice to know who and what he is! Not a bit of it! Have you just arrived from London, sir?"

"I came yesterday."

"Oh, indeed. And what, may I ask, do you think of the spy system generally?"

"The spy system?"

"Aye: you know, in Harry the Eighth's time, they did the trick very deliberately."

"Upon my word, you give me credit for more knowledge than I possess."

"What, don't you remember when Peter the Great came over here just before the French Revolution, when Buonaparte threatened to welt the whole world, and sent Robespierre after the Dutch?"

"Really," said Sylvester, smiling; "you are much too learned for me. I never before heard that Peter the Great, Buonaparte, and Robespierre were so intimately connected."

"Why, they all lived in juxtaposition."

"Obadiah," said Quocks, calmly; "don't be an ass."

"What do you mean?" cried Obadiah, indignantly.

"Hold your tongue. Don't expose yourself before strangers."

Obadiah thought this very severe, and was about to inflict upon Quocks an extremely cutting observation; but as Legge, who had been hopping down some beer, entered the room at the moment, Quocks escaped that infliction.