her engagement than Sylvia,) ’though Measter Brunton is near upon forty if he’s a day, yet he turns over a matter of two hundred pound every year; an he’s a good-looking man of his years too, an’ a kind, good-tempered feller int’ t’ bargain.  He’s been married once, to be sure; but his childer are dead a’ ‘cept one; an’ I don’t mislike childer either; an’ a’ll feed ’em well, an’ get ’em to bed early, out o’ t’ road.’

Mrs. Robson gave her her grave good wishes; but Sylvia was silent.  She was disappointed; it was a coming down from the romance with the specksioneer for its hero.  Molly laughed awkwardly, understanding Sylvia’s thoughts better than the latter imagined.

‘Sylvia’s noane so well pleased.  Why, lass! it’s a’ t’ better for thee.  There’s Charley to t’ fore now, which if a’d married him, he’d not ha’ been; and he’s said more nor once what a pretty lass yo’d grow into by-and-by.’

Molly’s prosperity was giving her an independence and fearlessness of talk such as had seldom appeared hitherto; and certainly never before Mrs. Robson.  Sylvia was annoyed at Molly’s whole tone and manner, which were loud, laughing, and boisterous; but to her mother they were positively repugnant.  She said shortly and gravely,—­

‘Sylvia’s none so set upo’ matrimony; she’s content to bide wi’ me and her father.  Let a be such talking, it’s not i’ my way.’

Molly was a little subdued; but still her elation at the prospect of being so well married kept cropping out of all the other subjects which were introduced; and when she went away, Mrs. Robson broke out in an unwonted strain of depreciation.

‘That’s the way wi’ some lasses.  They’re like a cock on a dunghill, when they’ve teased a silly chap into wedding ’em.  It’s cock-a-doodle-do, I’ve cotched a husband, cock-a-doodle-doo, wi’ ‘em.  I’ve no patience wi’ such like; I beg, Sylvie, thou’lt not get too thick wi’ Molly.  She’s not pretty behaved, making such an ado about men-kind, as if they were two-headed calves to be run after.’

’But Molly’s a good-hearted lass, mother.  Only I never dreamt but what she was troth-plighted wi’ Charley Kinraid,’ said Sylvia, meditatively.

’That wench ‘ll be troth-plight to th’ first man as ’ll wed her and keep her i’ plenty; that’s a’ she thinks about,’ replied Bell, scornfully.

CHAPTER XI

VISIONS OF THE FUTURE

Before May was out, Molly Corney was married and had left the neighbourhood for Newcastle.  Although Charley Kinraid was not the bridegroom, Sylvia’s promise to be bridesmaid was claimed.  But the friendship brought on by the circumstances of neighbourhood and parity of age had become very much weakened in the time that elapsed between Molly’s engagement and wedding.  In the first place, she herself was so absorbed in her preparations, so elated by her good fortune in getting married, and married, too,