‘Come to me,’ said Margaret, taking him off the dresser, and holding him in her arms; she held her watch to his ear, while she asked Nicholas if he had seen Mr. Thornton.

The look on his face changed instantly.

‘Ay!’ said he.  ‘I’ve seen and heerd too much on him.’

‘He refused you, then?’ said Margaret, sorrowfully.

’To be sure.  I knew he’d do it all long.  It’s no good expecting marcy at the hands o’ them measters.  Yo’re a stranger and a foreigner, and aren’t likely to know their ways; but I knowed it.’

’I am sorry I asked you.  Was he angry?  He did not speak to you as Hamper did, did he?’

‘He weren’t o’er-civil!’ said Nicholas, spinning the penny again, as much for his own amusement as for that of the children.  ’Never yo’ fret, I’m only where I was.  I’ll go on tramp to-morrow.  I gave him as good as I got.  I telled him, I’d not that good opinion on him that I’d ha’ come a second time of mysel’; but yo’d advised me for to come, and I were beholden to yo’.’

‘You told him I sent you?’

‘I dunno’ if I ca’d yo’ by your name.  I dunnot think I did.  I said, a woman who knew no better had advised me for to come and see if there was a soft place in his heart.’

‘And he—?’ asked Margaret.

‘Said I were to tell yo’ to mind yo’r own business.—­That’s the longest spin yet, my lads.—­And them’s civil words to what he used to me.  But ne’er mind.  We’re but where we was; and I’ll break stones on th’ road afore I let these little uns clem.’

Margaret put the struggling Johnnie out of her arms, back into his former place on the dresser.

’I am sorry I asked you to go to Mr. Thornton’s.  I am disappointed in him.’

There was a slight noise behind her.  Both she and Nicholas turned round at the same moment, and there stood Mr. Thornton, with a look of displeased surprise upon his face.  Obeying her swift impulse, Margaret passed out before him, saying not a word, only bowing low to hide the sudden paleness that she felt had come over her face.  He bent equally low in return, and then closed the door after her.  As she hurried to Mrs. Boucher’s, she heard the clang, and it seemed to fill up the measure of her mortification.  He too was annoyed to find her there.  He had tenderness in his heart—­’a soft place,’ as Nicholas Higgins called it; but he had some pride in concealing it; he kept it very sacred and safe, and was jealous of every circumstance that tried to gain admission.  But if he dreaded exposure of his tenderness, he was equally desirous that all men should recognise his justice; and he felt that he had been unjust, in giving so scornful a hearing to any one who had waited, with humble patience, for five hours, to speak to him.  That the man had spoken saucily to him when he had the opportunity, was nothing to Mr. Thornton.  He rather liked him for it; and he was conscious of his own irritability