’Well! niver heed if it is—­it’s me as said it, and I’m turned savage late days.  Come in, Kester, and see poor mother.’

‘A cannot,’ said he, turning his wrinkled puckered face away, that she might not see the twitchings of emotion on it.  ’There’s kine to be fetched up, and what not, and he’s theere, isn’t he, Sylvie?’ facing round upon her with inquisitiveness.  Under his peering eyes she reddened a little.

’Yes, if it’s Philip thou means; he’s been all we’ve had to look to sin’.’  Again the shudder.

‘Well, now he’ll be seein’ after his shop, a reckon?’

Sylvia was calling to the old mare nibbling tufts of early-springing grass here and there, and half unconsciously coaxing the creature to come up to the gate to be stroked.  But she heard Kester’s words well enough, and so he saw, although she made this excuse not to reply.  But Kester was not to be put off.

‘Folks is talkin’ about thee and him; thou’ll ha’ to mind lest thee and him gets yo’r names coupled together.’

‘It’s right down cruel on folks, then,’ said she, crimsoning from some emotion.  ’As if any man as was a man wouldn’t do all he could for two lone women at such a time—­and he a cousin, too!  Tell me who said so,’ continued she, firing round at Kester, ’and I’ll niver forgive ’em—­that’s all.’

‘Hoots!’ said Kester, a little conscious that he himself was the principal representative of that name of multitude folk.  ’Here’s a pretty lass; she’s’ got “a’ll niver forgi’e” at her tongue’s end wi’ a vengeance.’

Sylvia was a little confused.

‘Oh, Kester, man,’ said she, ‘my heart is sore again’ every one, for feyther’s sake.’

And at length the natural relief of plentiful tears came; and Kester, with instinctive wisdom, let her weep undisturbed; indeed, he cried not a little himself.  They were interrupted by Philip’s voice from the back-door.

‘Sylvie, your mother’s awake, and wants you!’

‘Come, Kester, come,’ and taking hold of him she drew him with her into the house.

Bell rose as they came in, holding by the arms of the chair.  At first she received Kester as though he had been a stranger.

‘I’m glad to see yo’, sir; t’ master’s out, but he’ll be in afore long.  It’ll be about t’ lambs yo’re come, mebbe?’

‘Mother!’ said Sylvia, ‘dunnot yo’ see? it’s Kester,—­Kester, wi’ his Sunday clothes on.’

’Kester! ay, sure it is; my eyes have getten so sore and dim of late; just as if I’d been greeting.  I’m sure, lad, I’m glad to see thee!  It’s a long time I’ve been away, but it were not pleasure-seeking as took me, it were business o’ some mak’—­tell him, Sylvie, what it were, for my head’s clean gone.  I only know I wouldn’t ha’ left home if I could ha’ helped it; for I think I should ha’ kept my health better if I’d bided at home wi’ my master.  I wonder as he’s not comed in for t’ bid me welcome?  Is he far afield, think ye, Kester?’