‘A’se deep an’ fause enow wi’ simple folk; but what can a do i’ Donkin be as fause as me—­as happen he may be?’

‘Ga way wi’ thee!  I’ Donkin be Solomon, thou mun be t’ Queen o’ Sheba; and I’se bound for to say she outwitted him at last!’

Kester laughed so long at the idea of his being the Queen of Sheba, that Sylvia was back by her mother’s side before the cachinnation ended.

That night, just as Sylvia was preparing to go to bed in her little closet of a room, she heard some shot rattling at her window.  She opened the little casement, and saw Kester standing below.  He recommenced where he left off, with a laugh—­

‘He, he, he!  A’s been t’ queen!  A’se ta’en Donkin on t’ reet side, an’ he’ll coom in to-morrow, just permiskus, an’ ax for work, like as if ‘t were a favour; t’ oud felley were a bit cross-grained at startin’, for he were workin’ at farmer Crosskey’s up at t’ other side o’ t’ town, wheer they puts a strike an’ a half of maut intil t’ beer, when most folk put nobbut a strike, an t’ made him ill to convince:  but he’ll coom, niver fear!’

The honest fellow never said a word of the shilling he had paid out of his own pocket to forward Sylvia’s wishes, and to persuade the tailor to leave the good beer.  All his anxiety now was to know if he had been missed, and if it was likely that a scolding awaited him in the morning.

‘T’ oud measter didn’t set up his back, ‘cause a didn’t coom in t’ supper?’

’He questioned a bit as to what thou were about, but mother didn’t know, an’ I held my peace.  Mother carried thy supper in t’ loft for thee.’

’A’ll gang after ‘t, then, for a’m like a pair o’ bellowses wi’ t’ wind out; just two flat sides wi’ nowt betwixt.’

The next morning, Sylvia’s face was a little redder than usual when Harry Donkin’s bow-legs were seen circling down the path to the house door.

‘Here’s Donkin, for sure!’ exclaimed Bell, when she caught sight of him a minute after her daughter.  ’Well, I just call that lucky! for he’ll be company for thee while Sylvia and me has to turn th’ cheeses.’

This was too original a remark for a wife to make in Daniel’s opinion, on this especial morning, when his rheumatism was twinging him more than usual, so he replied with severity—­

‘That’s all t’ women know about it.  Wi’ them it’s “coompany, coompany, coompany,” an’ they think a man’s no better than theirsels.  A’d have yo’ to know a’ve a vast o’ thoughts in myself’, as I’m noane willing to lay out for t’ benefit o’ every man.  A’ve niver gotten time for meditation sin’ a were married; leastways, sin’ a left t’ sea.  Aboard ship, wi’ niver a woman wi’n leagues o’ hail, and upo’ t’ masthead, in special, a could.’

‘Then I’d better tell Donkin as we’ve no work for him,’ said Sylvia, instinctively managing her father by agreeing with him, instead of reasoning with or contradicting him.