“‘Then I forgive thee.’  That was all he said.  His eyes were fixed upon Steve, for he never had a son of his own; and he held out his hands, and Steve went straight to him; and he lifted the boy, and kissed him again and again, and from that moment he loved him with all his soul.  He never cast up to me the wrong I had done; and by and by I told him all that had happened to me, and we never more had a secret between us, but worked together for one end; and what that end was, some day you may find out.  I wish you would write a word or two to Steve.  A word would bring him home, dear.”

“But I cannot write it, Ducie.  I promised father there should be no love-making between us, and I would not break a word that father trusts in.  Besides, Stephen is too proud and too honorable to have any underhand courting.  When he can walk in and out Seat-Sandal in dayshine and in dark, and as every one’s equal, he will come to see me.  Until then we can trust each other and wait.”

“What does the squire think of Steve’s plans?  Maybe, now, they are not very pleasant to him.  I remember at the sheep-shearing he did not say very much.”

“He did not say very much because he never thought that Steve was in earnest.  Father does not like changes, and you know how land-owners regard traders.  And I’m sure you wouldn’t even one of our shepherd-lads with a man that minds a loom.  The brave fellows, travelling the mountain-tops in the fiercest storms to fold the sheep, or seek some stray or weakly lamb, are very different from the lank, white-faced mannikins all finger-ends for a bit of machinery; aren’t they, Ducie?  And I would far rather see Steve counting his flocks on the fells than his spinning-jennys in a mill.  Father was troubled about the railway coming to Ambleside, and I do think a factory in Sandal-Side would make him heart-sick.”

“Then Steve shall never build one while Sandal lives.  Do you think I would have the squire made heart-sick if I could make him heart-whole?  Not for all the woollen yarn in England.  Tell him Ducie said so.  The squire and I are old, old friends.  Why, we pulled primroses together in the very meadow Steve thought of building in!  I’m not the woman to put a mill before a friend, oh, no!  And in the long end I think you are right, Charlotte.  A man had better work among sheep than among human beings.  They are a deal more peaceable and easy to get on with.  It is not so very hard for a shepherd to be a good man.”

“You speak as I like to hear you, Ducie; but I must be going, for a deal falls to my oversight now.”  And she rose quickly from the tea-table, and as she tied on her bonnet, began to sing,—­

    “’God bless the sheep upon the fells! 
      Oh, do you hear the tinkling bells
      Of sheep that wander on the fells?

      The tinkling bells the silence fills,
      Sings cheerily the soul that wills;
      God bless the shepherd on the hills!