All the Irish are gone except the girl, Davy, bach’ said quiet Mrs Prothero, ’and they are gone to the Overseer to tell him about her, and I will see that she is sent to the workhouse to-night, that is to say if I can.’

‘I suppose you fed and clothed the ragged rascals?’

’I just gave them some scraps for breakfast, and indeed their blessings did me good,’

’I should think they must.  People that left a dying girl behind ’em.’

’They promised to come back and see after her when the hay-harvest is over.  They are going into Herefordshire to get work, and she, poor thing, is looking for her relations in this county, and meant to get work here.’

’Well, I want my breakfast.  I promised brother Jonathan to go to church to-day.  He is going to preach a charity sermon for the Church Building Society, and wants my shilling.  He and Mrs Jonathan are to come to-morrow, you know, my dear.  I hope in my heart everything is as fine as fippence, or my lady ‘ll turn up her nose.’

‘I can’t make things neater, Davy.’

This was said by Mrs Prothero, in a desponding tone, quite different from her former quiet cheerfulness, and she accompanied the words by rubbing her hands nervously one over the other.

’There now, don’t look as if you were going to be smothered.  Mrs Jonathan isn’t so bad as all that.  I wish to goodness Jonathan hadn’t married a fine lady.  But then she brought him a good fortune, and it’s all the better for our children.’

‘I don’t want her money.’

’But if it wasn’t for her, my dear, Rowland would never have had an Oxford edication.’

’I’d as soon he had gone to Lampeter, or been made a good Wesleyan minister, and then he might have been content to stay in Wales, instead of going off to England.’

’There, there! never mind!  He’ll be a bishop some day; and though you do still incline to the chapel, you’ll be proud of that.  Now, name o’ goodness, let’s have some breakfast.’

With this peculiarly Welsh interjection, Mr Prothero turned towards the farm, and, followed by his wife, went to the desired repast.

CHAPTER III.

The farmer’s daughter.

’Nobody has come for that poor girl, Netta, and I have’n’t the heart to send her away,’ said Mrs Prothero to her only daughter Janetta, towards the close of the Sunday, the morning of which we noticed in the last chapter.

’I am sure, mother, you have been plagued quite enough with her already.  You have neither been to church nor chapel, and scarcely eaten a morsel all the day.  I can’t imagine what pleasure you take in such people.’

’I wouldn’t care if your father was at home; but I don’t quite like to have her into the house without his leave, and she is not fit to be left in the barn.’

’Into the house, mother!  That wild Irish beggar!  Why, father would get into a fury, and I’m sure I should be afraid to sleep in the same place with such a creature.’