Once, when Dale had stopped thus to talk to Mr. Maghull, there were two field-laborers leaning against a gate and discussing people as they passed.  Neither of them was a Baptist.  One was a stupid old man, and his would-be-funny chatter, at which the other kept guffawing, bothered Dale in his serious conversation with Mr. Maghull.

“Be that little Norrer Veale?”

“I dunno.”

“I do think that’s little Norrer Veale, but I ben’t sure.”

“Yes, it is,” said Dale, turning and speaking sharply.  “What about her?”

“Lord, how she’s coming on,” said the old man.  “She’s an advertisement to your larder, sir;” and he stared at the girl.  “Fillin’ out into all a piece o’ goods, ben’t un?” Then he laughed, in peasant style.  “Give her another year or two and she’ll be a blink to set some un o’ fire pretty quick, if she gets hedge-row walkin’.”

Dale felt annoyed by this rustic criticism, but he knew that there was substantial truth in it.  Norah was developing rapidly, and showed distinct comeliness.  As he walked after her he noticed her figure.  It was still very slender, but it had roundnesses that would soon become rounder, and graceful curves that would swell with an ampler grace every month till she reached full growth.  He was pleased when he thought of the good food that she had received in return for her good work.  He thought, too, that he must tell Mavis to be watchful and careful, a real guardian, when this childlike bud burst into womanhood.

He felt a glow of indignation at the mere idea of harm coming to her while she was under their care.  Hands off, there.  Any louts who attempted tricks would have him, William Dale, to reckon with.

For years Dale had been a bad sleeper, but now he was a good sleeper; and Mavis traced this change directly to the calming effect of his religion.  There could be no question that the improvement dated from that night on which he was baptized.  Since then he had not once been troubled with bad dreams, and habitually he slept so soundly that he required a lot of rousing in the morning.  Another change, among those slight differences that she fancied she observed in him, was his abstraction when reading.  Formerly he used to seem particularly alert and vigorous whenever he sat with an open book before him; his whole air was that of lively expectation; the features worked; he was waiting for a passage that he did not agree with.  Nowadays he seemed to read in a completely receptive spirit, without questioning, without doubting; and his face reflected the quiet confidence that he was adopting with regard to the author.  He never looked up, or stopped to read out anything that struck him; he had withdrawn himself from every-day life and given himself to the world of the book; you had to speak two or three times, and quite loudly, before you could drag him back to material facts.