It was early in June that Lily went up to her uncle at the Great House, pleading for Hopkins,—pleading that to Hopkins might be restored all the privileges of head gardener at the Great House. There was some absurdity in this, seeing that he had never really relinquished his privileges; but the manner of the quarrel had been in this wise.

There was in those days, and had been for years, a vexed question between Hopkins and Jolliffe the bailiff on the matter of—stable manure. Hopkins had pretended to the right of taking what he required from the farmyard, without asking leave of any one. Jolliffe in return had hinted, that if this were so, Hopkins would take it all. "But I can\'t eat it," Hopkins had said. Jolliffe merely grunted, signifying by the grunt, as Hopkins thought, that though a gardener couldn\'t eat a mountain of manure fifty feet long and fifteen high—couldn\'t eat in the body,—he might convert it into things edible for his own personal use. And so there had been a great feud. The unfortunate squire had of course been called on to arbitrate, and having postponed his decision by every contrivance possible to him, had at last been driven by Jolliffe to declare that Hopkins should take nothing that was not assigned to him. Hopkins, when the decision was made known to him by his master, bit his old lips, and turned round upon his old heel, speechless. "You\'ll find it\'s so at all other places," said the squire, apologetically. "Other places!" sneered Hopkins. Where would he find other gardeners like himself? It is hardly necessary to declare that from that moment he resolved that he would abide by no such order. Jolliffe on the next morning informed the squire that the order had been broken, and the squire fretted and fumed, wishing that Jolliffe were well buried under the mountain in question. "If they all is to do as they like," said Jolliffe, "then nobody won\'t care for nobody." The squire understood that an order if given must be obeyed, and therefore, with many inner groanings of the spirit, resolved that war must be waged against Hopkins.

On the following morning he found the old man himself wheeling a huge barrow of manure round from the yard into the kitchen-garden. Now, on ordinary occasions, Hopkins was not required to do with his own hands work of that description. He had a man under him who hewed wood, and carried water, and wheeled barrows,—one man always, and often two. The squire knew when he saw him that he was sinning, and bade him stop upon his road.

"Hopkins," he said, "why didn\'t you ask for what you wanted, before you took it?" The old man put down the barrow on the ground, looked up in his master\'s face, spat into his hands, and then again resumed his barrow. "Hopkins, that won\'t do," said the squire. "Stop where you are."

"What won\'t do?" said Hopkins, still holding the barrow from the ground, but not as yet progressing.

"Put it down, Hopkins," and Hopkins did put it down. "Don\'t you know that you are flatly disobeying my orders?"

"Squire, I\'ve been here about this place going on nigh seventy years."

"If you\'ve been going on a hundred and seventy it wouldn\'t do that there should be more than one master. I\'m the master here, and I intend to be so to the end. Take that manure back into the yard."

"Back into the yard?" said Hopkins, very slowly.

"Yes; back into the yard."

"What,—afore all their faces?"

"Yes; you\'ve disobeyed me before all their faces?"

Hopkins paused a moment, looking away from the squire, and shaking his head as though he had need of deep thought, but by the aid of deep thought had come at last to a right conclusion. Then he resumed the barrow, and putting himself almost into a trot, carried away his prize into the kitchen-garden. At the pace which he went it would have been beyond the squire\'s power to stop him, nor would Mr. Dale have wished to come to a personal encounter with his servant. But he called after the man in dire wrath that if he were not obeyed the disobedient servant should rue the consequences for ever. Hopkins, equal to the occasion, shook his head as he trotted on, deposited his load at the foot of the cucumber-frames, and then at once returning to his master, tendered to him the key of the greenhouse.

"Master," said Hopkins, speaking as best he could with his scanty breath, "there it is;—there\'s the key; of course I don\'t want no warning, and doesn\'t care about my week\'s wages. I\'ll be out of the cottage afore night, and as for the work\'us, I suppose they\'ll let me in at once, if your honour\'ll give \'em a line."

Now as Hopkins was well known by the squire to be the owner of three or four hundred pounds, the hint about the workhouse must be allowed to have been melodramatic.

"Don\'t be a fool," said the squire, almost gnashing his teeth.

"I know I\'ve been a fool," said Hopkins, "about that \'ere doong; my feelings has been too much for me. When a man\'s feelings has been too much for him, he\'d better just take hisself off, and lie in the work\'us till he dies." And then he again tendered the key. But the squire did not take the key, and so Hopkins went on. "I s\'pose I\'d better just see to the lights and the like of that, till you\'ve suited yourself, Mr. Dale. It \'ud be a pity all them grapes should go off, and they, as you may say, all one as fit for the table. It\'s a long way the best crop I ever see on \'em. I\'ve been that careful with \'em that I haven\'t had a natural night\'s rest, not since February. There ain\'t nobody about this place as understands grapes, nor yet anywhere nigh that could be got at. My lord\'s head man is wery ignorant; but even if he knew ever so, of course he couldn\'t come here. I suppose I\'d better keep the key till you\'re suited, Mr. Dale."

Then for a fortnight there was an interregnum in the gardens, terrible in the annals of Allington. Hopkins lived in his cottage indeed, and looked most sedulously after the grapes. In looking after the grapes, too, he took the greenhouses under his care; but he would have nothing to do with the outer gardens, took no wages, returning the amount sent to him back to the squire, and insisted with everybody that he had been dismissed. He went about with some terrible horticultural implement always in his hand, with which it was said that he intended to attack Jolliffe; but Jolliffe prudently kept out of his way.

As soon as it had been resolved by Mrs. Dale and Lily that the flitting from the Small House at Allington was not to be accomplished, Lily communicated the fact to Hopkins.

"Miss," said he, "when I said them few words to you and your mamma, I knew that you would listen to reason."

This was no more than Lily had expected; that Hopkins should claim the honour of having prevailed by his arguments was a matter of course.

"Yes," said Lily; "we\'ve made up our minds to stay. Uncle wishes it."

"Wishes it! Laws, miss; it ain\'t only wishes. And we all wishes it. Why, now, look at the reason of the thing. Here\'s this here house—"

"But, Hopkins, it\'s decided. We\'re going to stay. What I want to know is this; can you come at once and help me to unpack?"

"What! this very evening, as is—"

"Yes, now; we want to have the things about again before they come back from Guestwick."

Hopkins scratched his head and hesitated, not wishing to yield to any proposition that could be considered as childish; but he gave way at last, feeling that the work itself was a good work. Mrs. Dale also assented, laughing at Lily for her folly as she did so, and in this way the things were unpacked very quickly, and the alliance between Lily and Hopkins became, for the time, very close. This work of unpacking and resettling was not yet over, when the battle of the manure broke out, and therefore it was that Hopkins, when his feelings had become altogether too much for him "about the doong," came at last to Lily, and laying down at her feet all the weight and all the glory of his sixty odd years of life, implored her to make matters straight for him. "It\'s been a killing me, miss, so it has; to see the way they\'ve been a cutting that \'sparagus. It ain\'t cutting at all. It\'s just hocking it up;—what is fit, and what isn\'t, all together. And they\'ve been a-putting the plants in where I didn\'t mean \'em, though they know\'d I didn\'t mean \'em. I\'ve stood by, miss, and said never a word. I\'d a died sooner. But, Miss Lily, what my sufferings have been, \'cause of my feelings getting the better of me about that—you know, miss—nobody will ever tell;—nobody—nobody—nobody." Then Hopkins turned away and wept.

"Uncle," said Lily, creeping close up against his chair, "I want to ask you a great favour."

"A great favour. Well, I don\'t think I shall refuse you anything at present. It isn\'t to ask another earl to the house,—is it?"

"Another earl!" said Lily.

"Yes; haven\'t you heard? Miss Bell has been here this morning, insisting that I should have over Lord De Guest and his sister for the marriage. It seems that there was some scheming between Bell and Lady Julia."

"Of course you\'ll ask them."

"Of course I must. I\'ve no way out of it. It\'ll be all very well for Bell, who\'ll be off to Wales with her lover; but what am I to do with the earl and Lady Julia, when they\'re gone? Will you come and help me?"

In answer to this, Lily of course promised that she would come and help. "Indeed," said she, "I thought we were all asked up for the day. And now for my favour. Uncle, you must forgive poor Hopkins."

"Forgive a fiddlestick!" said the squire.

"No, but you must. You can\'t think how unhappy he is."

"How can I forgive a man who won\'t forgive me. He goes prowling about the place doing nothing; and he sends me back his wages, and he looks as though he were going to murder some one; and all because he wouldn\'t do as he was told. How am I to forgive such a man as that?"

"But, uncle, why not?"

"It would be his forgiving me. He knows very well that he may come back whenever he pleases; and, indeed, for the matter of that he has never gone away."

"But he is so very unhappy."

"What can I do to make him happier?"

"Just go down to his cottage and tell him that you forgive him."

"Then he\'ll argue with me."

"No; I don\'t think he will. He is too much down in the world for arguing now."

"Ah! you don\'t know him as I do. All the misfortunes in the world wouldn\'t stop that man\'s conceit. Of course I\'ll go if you ask me, but it seems to me that I\'m made to knock under to everybody. I hear a great deal about other people\'s feelings, but I don\'t know that mine are very much thought of." He was not altogether in a happy mood, and Lily almost regretted that she had persevered; but she did succeed in carrying him off across the garden to the cottage, and as they went together she promised him that she would think of him always,—always. The scene with Hopkins cannot be described now, as it would take too many of our few remaining pages. It resulted, I am afraid I must confess, in nothing more triumphant to the squire than a treaty of mutual forgiveness. Hopkins acknowledged, with much self-reproach, that his feelings had been too many for him; but then, look at his provocation! He could not keep his tongue from that matter, and certainly said as much in his own defence as he did in confession of his sins. The substantial triumph was altogether his, for nobody again ever dared to interfere with his operations in the farmyard. He showed his submission to his master mainly by consenting to receive his wages for the two weeks which he had passed in idleness.

Owing to this little accident, Lily wa............