Mrs. Neath, the cottage woman, in exchange for her keep, and was mercilessly used by the borrower.  She rose at dawn, worked as the regular household drudge till within an hour of school-time, then walked into Rodchurch for the day’s schooling with a piece of dry bread in her pocket as dinner; and on her return from school worked again till late at night.  She admitted that she felt always hungry, always tired, always miserable; that she suffered from cold at night in her wretched little bed; and that Mrs. Neath often beat her.  She was a bright, intelligent child, black-haired, olive-complexioned, with lively blue eyes which expressed at once the natural trustfulness of youth, a certain boldness and wildness derived from gipsy ancestors, and a questioning wonder that this pleasant-looking world should be systematically ill-treating her.

The horrid, lying, carneying old woman of the cottage received home truths instead of tea and sugar from Mavis Dale, who, with all her maternal feelings aroused, rushed off straightway to hunt for the neglectful father.  She found him at the Barradine Arms, and demanded his permission to take away the child.  Veale, although sadly bemused, at once said that he could refuse nothing to the wife of his preserver.

“Oh, lor-a-mussy, yes, mum, you may ‘aave my little Norrer an’ do what you like wi’ her.  Bless her heart, I look on Norrer and her brothers to be the comfort o’ my old age, but I wunt stan’ in their light to interfere wi’ what’s best for any of ’em.”

Mavis then took Norah straight home with her to Vine-Pits, bathed her, fed her, clothed her, and made much of her.  And Norah proved grateful, docile, amenable, doing all that Mrs. Dale told her to do; and from the first exhibiting an almost superstitious worship of Mr. Dale.  For truly, as he himself had surmised, her little starved breast was overflowing with gratitude to the man who had saved her father.  It mattered nothing to the children of the mud hovel that their father was not an exemplary character; they did not want him to be drowned; and Norah, hearing in extreme youth of the hero who had interposed between him and such a cruel death, had mentally built a pedestal for the hero and kept him on top of it ever since.

It happened that about the time when Dale was preparing to pay off the last instalment of his debt, Mr. Bates unexpectedly applied for the money.  He had never before shown the least anxiety for repayment; it had always been “Take your time, William.  I know I’m in safe hands,” and so forth; but now he said, “If you can make it convenient to you, William, it would be convenient to me.”

“Oh, certainly, Mr. Bates.  You shall have it before the end of the week—­and I hope you’re going to act on the advice I ventured to offer last time; that is, put it in one of these Canadian Government guaranteed stocks.”

“I’m sure it was good advice, William—­even if I didn’t act on it.”