Ted stood by with his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, smiling to himself.

“Yon’s gradely chickens,” he remarked presently.  “Ye never eat ’em do ye?  ’Twouldn’t be respectful, I shouldn’t think.”

[Illustration:  THE CONQUEST OF RADICAL TED “Yon’s gradely chickens,” he remarked]

Margaret vouchsafed no reply.  Ted resumed, with bitter sarcasm.

“H’m, mich the same as their r’yal namesakes, I reckon—­kept for show an’ no manner o’ use to nobry.”

Margaret hastily scattered the remainder of the grain in her apron, and whisked round.

“Howd your din,” she cried angrily, “or else tak’ yoursel’ off.  I’ll noan stand by an’ hear sich talk i’ my place.”

Ted, feeling he had made rather an inauspicious beginning, suddenly became lamb-like.

“No offence,” he pleaded humbly.  “Mun I carry your basin for you into th’ house?”

Margaret looked over her shoulder and snorted; then, without returning yea or nay, she stalked over the cobble-stones and entered her kitchen, followed meekly by her visitor.  Miss Heptonstall did not turn her head until the sound of Ted’s boots, falling upon her tiled floor, made her look round sharply.

“If ye’re for coomin’ in ye’d best wipe your feet,” she announced briefly.

Ted obediently retraced his steps and polished his boots on the mat outside the door.  Then he re-entered, walking gingerly on the tips of his toes, and casting about in his mind for a suitable topic with which to inaugurate the conversation.  Margaret’s spare angular figure and sharp-featured face did not look encouraging; but surely never before was seen such a dazzling white apron, such a stiffly starched collar, such spotless cuffs.  Margaret’s cleanliness had in it, it was true, an aggressive quality, but Ted admired it nevertheless.  The kitchen and all its appurtenances bore witness to the same scrupulous nicety.  No floor in Thornleigh village was raddled so carefully, no fire-irons glittered so bravely; the very walls seemed to shine; and as for the pots and pans they positively winked at one another in the ruddy glow.  Ted rested a sunburnt hand on each of his knees, drew a long breath, and remarked fervently—­

“Ye mun be wonderful house-proud, Miss Heptonstall.”

He could not have chosen a more pleasing theme; Margaret wrinkled up her nose with a sniff and a smile.

“Well, I believe I’m reckoned to be,” she remarked modestly; “theer’s nought else i’ this world as I care for mich, but I’m wonderful fond o’ cleanin’ and scrubbing’, an’ I’ve allus said I’d sooner do things for mysel’ nor let onybody do it for me.”

Ted sighed and cast up his eyes.

“It seems a pity, Miss Heptonstall, as it’s only yoursel’ ye’re doin’ it for—­”

“Why so?” interrupted Margaret snappishly.

“Well, it seems sich terrible waste, ye know.  It seems a pity ye shouldn’t be doin’ for soombry else at th’ same time.”