‘On the principle that a living ass is better than a dead lion?’

‘Perhaps so.  I don’t analyse my feelings.’

’I am content to take your liking me, without examining too curiously into the materials it is made of.  Only we need not walk at a snail’s’ pace.’

’Very well.  Walk at your own pace, and I will follow.  Or stop still and meditate, like the Hamlet you compare yourself to, if I go too fast.’

’Thank you.  But as my mother has not murdered my father, and afterwards married my uncle, I shouldn’t know what to think about, unless it were balancing the chances of our having a well-cooked dinner or not.  What do you think?’

’I am in good hopes.  She used to be considered a famous cook as far as Helstone opinion went.’

’But have you considered the distraction of mind produced by all this haymaking?’

Margaret felt all Mr. Bell’s kindness in trying to make cheerful talk about nothing, to endeavour to prevent her from thinking too curiously about the past.  But she would rather have gone over these dear-loved walks in silence, if indeed she were not ungrateful enough to wish that she might have been alone.

They reached the cottage where Susan’s widowed mother lived.  Susan was not there.  She was gone to the parochial school.  Margaret was disappointed, and the poor woman saw it, and began to make a kind of apology.

‘Oh! it is quite right,’ said Margaret.  ’I am very glad to hear it.  I might have thought of it.  Only she used to stop at home with you.’

’Yes, she did; and I miss her sadly.  I used to teach her what little I knew at nights.  It were not much to be sure.  But she were getting such a handy girl, that I miss her sore.  But she’s a deal above me in learning now.’  And the mother sighed.

‘I’m all wrong,’ growled Mr. Bell.  ’Don’t mind what I say.  I’m a hundred years behind the world.  But I should say, that the child was getting a better and simpler, and more natural education stopping at home, and helping her mother, and learning to read a chapter in the New Testament every night by her side, than from all the schooling under the sun.’

Margaret did not want to encourage him to go on by replying to him, and so prolonging the discussion before the mother.  So she turned to her and asked,

‘How is old Betty Barnes?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the woman rather shortly.  ’We’se not friends.’

‘Why not?’ asked Margaret, who had formerly been the peacemaker of the village.

‘She stole my cat.’

‘Did she know it was yours?’

‘I don’t know.  I reckon not.’

’Well! could not you get it back again when you told her it was yours?’

‘No! for she’d burnt it.’

‘Burnt it!’ exclaimed both Margaret and Mr. Bell.

‘Roasted it!’ explained the woman.