Margaret was a little surprised, and very much pleased, when she found her father and Higgins in earnest conversation—­each speaking with gentle politeness to the other, however their opinions might clash.  Nicholas—­clean, tidied (if only at the pump-trough), and quiet spoken—­was a new creature to her, who had only seen him in the rough independence of his own hearthstone.  He had ‘slicked’ his hair down with the fresh water; he had adjusted his neck-handkerchief, and borrowed an odd candle-end to polish his clogs with and there he sat, enforcing some opinion on her father, with a strong Darkshire accent, it is true, but with a lowered voice, and a good, earnest composure on his face.  Her father, too, was interested in what his companion was saying.  He looked round as she came in, smiled, and quietly gave her his chair, and then sat down afresh as quickly as possible, and with a little bow of apology to his guest for the interruption.  Higgins nodded to her as a sign of greeting; and she softly adjusted her working materials on the table, and prepared to listen.

‘As I was a-sayin, sir, I reckon yo’d not ha’ much belief in yo’ if yo’ lived here,—­if yo’d been bred here.  I ax your pardon if I use wrong words; but what I mean by belief just now, is a-thinking on sayings and maxims and promises made by folk yo’ never saw, about the things and the life, yo’ never saw, nor no one else.  Now, yo’ say these are true things, and true sayings, and a true life.  I just say, where’s the proof?  There’s many and many a one wiser, and scores better learned than I am around me,—­folk who’ve had time to think on these things,—­while my time has had to be gi’en up to getting my bread.  Well, I sees these people.  Their lives is pretty much open to me.  They’re real folk.  They don’t believe i’ the Bible,—­not they.  They may say they do, for form’s sake; but Lord, sir, d’ye think their first cry i’ th’ morning is, “What shall I do to get hold on eternal life?” or “What shall I do to fill my purse this blessed day?  Where shall I go?  What bargains shall I strike?” The purse and the gold and the notes is real things; things as can be felt and touched; them’s realities; and eternal life is all a talk, very fit for—­I ax your pardon, sir; yo’r a parson out o’ work, I believe.  Well!  I’ll never speak disrespectful of a man in the same fix as I’m in mysel’.  But I’ll just ax yo another question, sir, and I dunnot want yo to answer it, only to put in yo’r pipe, and smoke it, afore yo’ go for to set down us, who only believe in what we see, as fools and noddies.  If salvation, and life to come, and what not, was true—­not in men’s words, but in men’s hearts’ core—­dun yo’ not think they’d din us wi’ it as they do wi’ political ’conomy?  They’re mighty anxious to come round us wi’ that piece o’ wisdom; but t’other would be a greater convarsion, if it were true.’

’But the masters have nothing to do with your religion.  All that they are connected with you in is trade,—­so they think,—­and all that it concerns them, therefore, to rectify your opinions in is the science of trade.’