‘Well, feyther, and how’s a’ wi’ you?’ asked Sylvia, going to the side of his chair, and laying her hand on his shoulder.

‘Eh! harkee till this lass o’ mine.  She thinks as because she’s gone galraverging, I maun ha’ missed her and be ailing.  Why, lass, Donkin and me has had t’ most sensible talk a’ve had this many a day.  A’ve gi’en him a vast o’ knowledge, and he’s done me a power o’ good.  Please God, to-morrow a’ll tak’ a start at walking, if t’ weather holds up.’

‘Ay!’ said Donkin, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice; ’feyther and me has settled many puzzles; it’s been a loss to Government as they hannot been here for profiting by our wisdom.  We’ve done away wi’ taxes and press-gangs, and many a plague, and beaten t’ French—­i’ our own minds, that’s to say.’

‘It’s a wonder t’ me as those Lunnon folks can’t see things clear,’ said Daniel, all in good faith.

Sylvia did not quite understand the state of things as regarded politics and taxes—­and politics and taxes were all one in her mind, it must be confessed—­but she saw that her innocent little scheme of giving her father the change of society afforded by Donkin’s coming had answered; and in the gladness of her heart she went out and ran round the corner of the house to find Kester, and obtain from him that sympathy in her success which she dared not ask from her mother.

‘Kester, Kester, lad!’ said she, in a loud whisper; but Kester was suppering the horses, and in the clamp of their feet on the round stable pavement, he did not hear her at first.  She went a little farther into the stable.  ’Kester! he’s a vast better, he’ll go out to-morrow; it’s all Donkin’s doing.  I’m beholden to thee for fetching him, and I’ll try and spare thee waistcoat fronts out o’ t’ stuff for my new red cloak.  Thou’ll like that, Kester, won’t ta?’

Kester took the notion in slowly, and weighed it.

‘Na, lass,’ said he, deliberately, after a pause.  ‘A could na’ bear to see thee wi’ thy cloak scrimpit.  A like t’ see a wench look bonny and smart, an’ a tak’ a kind o’ pride in thee, an should be a’most as much hurt i’ my mind to see thee i’ a pinched cloak as if old Moll’s tail here were docked too short.  Na, lass, a’se niver got a mirroring glass for t’ see mysen in, so what’s waistcoats to me?  Keep thy stuff to thysen, theere’s a good wench; but a’se main and glad about t’ measter.  Place isn’t like itsen when he’s shut up and cranky.’

He took up a wisp of straw and began rubbing down the old mare, and hissing over his work as if he wished to consider the conversation as ended.  And Sylvia, who had strung herself up in a momentary fervour of gratitude to make the generous offer, was not sorry to have it refused, and went back planning what kindness she could show to Kester without its involving so much sacrifice to herself.  For giving waistcoat fronts to him would deprive her of the pleasant power of selecting a fashionable pattern in Monkshaven churchyard next Sunday.