“I have had very bad news about the Holler Scree flock, Charlotte, and I must away there to see what can be done.  Tell Barf Latrigg it is the sheep, and he will understand:  he was always one to put the dumb creatures first.  The kindest thing that is in your own heart say it to the dear old man for me; will you, Charlotte?”

“You can trust to me, father.”

“Yes, I know I can; for that and more too.  And there is more.  I feel a bit about Stephen.  Happen I was less than kind to him the other day.  But I gave you good reasons, Charlotte; and I have such confidence in you, that I said to mother, ’You can send Charlotte.  There is nothing underhand about her.  She knows my will, and she’ll do it.’  Eh?  What?”

“Yes, father:  I’ll be square on all four sides with you.  But I told you there had been no love-making between me and Steve.”

“Steve was doing his best at it.  Depend upon it he meant love-making; and I must say I thought you made out to understand him very well.  Maybe I was mistaken.  Every woman is a new book, and a book by herself; and it isn’t likely I can understand them all.”

“Stephen is sure to speak to me about your being so queer to him.  Had I not better tell the truth?”

“I have a high opinion of that way.  Truth may be blamed, but it can’t be shamed.  However, if he was not making love to you at the shearing, won’t you find it a bit difficult to speak your mind?  Eh?  What?”

“He will understand.”

“Ay, I thought so.”

“Father, we have never had any secrets, you and me.  If I am not to encourage Stephen Latrigg, do you want me to marry Julius Sandal?”

“Well, I never!  Such a question!  What for?”

“Because, at the very first, I want to tell you that I could not do it—­no way.  I am quite ready to give up my will to your will, and my pleasure to your pleasure.  That is my duty; but to marry cousin Julius is a different thing.”

“Don’t get too far forward, Charlotte.  Julius has not said a word to me about marrying you.”

“But he is doing his best at it.  Depend upon it he means marrying; and I must say I thought you made out to understand him very well.  Maybe I was mistaken.  Every man is a new book, and a book by himself; and it is not likely I can understand them all.”

“Now you are picking up my own words, and throwing them back at me.  That isn’t right.  I don’t know whatever to say for myself.  Eh?  What?”

“Say, ‘dear Charlotte,’ and ‘good-by Charlotte,’ and take an easy mind with you to Holler Scree, father.  As far as I am concerned, I will never grieve you, and never deceive you,—­no, not in the least little thing.”