‘Of course,’ said Cytherea.

’He’s got a place ‘a b’lieve?’ said the clerk, drawing near.

’No, poor mortal fellow, no.  He tried for this one here, you know, but couldn’t manage to get it.  I don’t know the rights o’ the matter, but willy-nilly they wouldn’t have him for steward.  Now mates, form in line.’

Springrove, the clerk, the grinders, and Gad, all ranged themselves behind the lever of the screw, and walked round like soldiers wheeling.

’The man that the old quean hev got is a man you can hardly get upon your tongue to gainsay, by the look o’ en,’ rejoined Clerk Crickett.

‘One o’ them people that can contrive to be thought no worse o’ for stealen a horse than another man for looken over hedge at en,’ said a grinder.

’Well, he’s all there as steward, and is quite the gentleman—­no doubt about that.’

‘So would my Ted ha’ been, for the matter o’ that,’ the farmer said.

’That’s true:  ‘a would, sir.’

’I said, I’ll give Ted a good education if it do cost me my eyes, and I would have done it.’

‘Ay, that you would so,’ said the chorus of assistants solemnly.

’But he took to books and drawing naturally, and cost very little; and as a wind-up the womenfolk hatched up a match between him and his cousin.’

‘When’s the wedden to be, Mr. Springrove?’

’Uncertain—­but soon, I suppose.  Edward, you see, can do anything pretty nearly, and yet can’t get a straightforward living.  I wish sometimes I had kept him here, and let professions go.  But he was such a one for the pencil.’

He dropped the lever in the hedge, and turned to his visitor.

‘Now then, missie, if you’ll come indoors, please.’

Gad Weedy looked with a placid criticism at Cytherea as she withdrew with the farmer.

‘I could tell by the tongue o’ her that she didn’t take her degrees in our county,’ he said in an undertone.

‘The railways have left you lonely here,’ she observed, when they were indoors.

Save the withered old flies, which were quite tame from the solitude, not a being was in the house.  Nobody seemed to have entered it since the last passenger had been called out to mount the last stage-coach that had run by.

‘Yes, the Inn and I seem almost a pair of fossils,’ the farmer replied, looking at the room and then at himself.

‘O, Mr. Springrove,’ said Cytherea, suddenly recollecting herself; ‘I am much obliged to you for recommending me to Miss Aldclyffe.’  She began to warm towards the old man; there was in him a gentleness of disposition which reminded her of her own father.

’Recommending?  Not at all, miss.  Ted—­that’s my son—­Ted said a fellow-draughtsman of his had a sister who wanted to be doing something in the world, and I mentioned it to the housekeeper, that’s all.  Ay, I miss my son very much.’

She kept her back to the window that he might not see her rising colour.