‘I’d a deal rayther hear fra’ thee, Philip.  Coulson doesn’t know how t’ manage his own business, let alone half the business as it took John and Jeremiah’s heads—­ay, and tasked ’em, too—­to manage.  I’ve no patience with Coulson.’

‘Why? he’s a decent young fellow as ever there is in Monkshaven.’

’He may be.  He’s noane cut his wisdom-teeth yet.  But, for that matter, there’s other folks as far fra’ sense as he is.’

’Ay, and farther.  Coulson mayn’t be so bright at all times as he might be, but he’s a steady-goer, and I’d back him again’ any chap o’ his age i’ Monkshaven.’

‘I know who I’d sooner back in many a thing, Philip!’ She said it with so much meaning that he could not fail to understand that he himself was meant, and he replied, ingenuously enough,—­

‘If yo’ mean me, mother, I’ll noane deny that in a thing or two I may be more knowledgeable than Coulson.  I’ve had a deal o’ time on my hands i’ my youth, and I’d good schooling as long as father lived.’

’Lad! it’s not schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as carries a man through t’ world.  It’s mother-wit.  And it’s noane schooling, nor knowledge, nor book-learning as takes a young woman.  It’s summat as cannot be put into words.’

‘That’s just what I told Coulson!’ said Philip, quickly.  ’He were sore put about because Hester had gi’en him the bucket, and came to me about it.’

‘And what did thou say?’ asked Alice, her deep eyes gleaming at him as if to read his face as well as his words.  Philip, thinking he could now do what Coulson had begged of him in the neatest manner, went on,—­

‘I told him I’d help him all as I could—–­’

’Thou did, did thou?  Well, well, there’s nought sa queer as folks, that a will say,’ muttered Alice, between her teeth.

‘—­but that fancy had three parts to do wi’ love,’ continued Philip, ’and it would be hard, may-be, to get a reason for her not fancying him.  Yet I wish she’d think twice about it; he so set upon having her, I think he’ll do himself a mischief wi’ fretting, if it goes on as it is.’

‘It’ll noane go on as it is,’ said Alice, with gloomy oracularness.

‘How not?’ asked Philip.  Then, receiving no answer, he went on, ’He loves her true, and he’s within a month or two on her age, and his character will bear handling on a’ sides; and his share on t’ shop will be worth hundreds a year afore long.’

Another pause.  Alice was trying to bring down her pride to say something, which she could not with all her efforts.

‘Maybe yo’ll speak a word for him, mother,’ said Philip, annoyed at her silence.

’I’ll do no such thing.  Marriages are best made wi’out melling.  How do I know but what she likes some one better?’

‘Our Hester’s not th’ lass to think on a young man unless he’s been a-wooing on her.  And yo’ know, mother, as well as I do—­and Coulson does too—­she’s niver given any one a chance to woo her; living half her time here, and t’ other half in t’ shop, and niver speaking to no one by t’ way.’