“I shan’t trouble you again for a while,” said William sadly.  “Good-by.  God bless you, Susan dear.”

When he was gone the tears came into Susan’s eyes, but she was bitterly indignant with him for making a scene about her, which a really modest girl hates.  On her reaching the parlor Mr. Meadows was gone, too, and that incensed her still more against William.  “Mr. Meadows is affronted, no doubt,” said she, “and of course he would not come here to be talked of; he would not like that any more than I. A man that comes here to us out of pure good nature and nothing else.”

The next market-day the deep Meadows did not come.  Susan missed him and his talk.  She had few pleasures, and this was one of them.  But the next after he came as usual, and Susan did not conceal her satisfaction.  She was too shy and he too wise to allude to William’s interference.  They both ignored the poor fellow and his honest, clumsy attempt.

William, discomfited but not convinced, determined to keep his eye upon them both.  “I swore it and I’ll do it,” said this honest fellow.  “But I can’t face her tongue; it goes through me like a pitchfork; but as for him”—­and he clinched his fist most significantly; then he revolved one or two plans in his head, and rejected them each in turn.  At last a thought struck him.  “Mr. Levi! he ’twas that put me on my guard.  I’ll tell him.”  Accordingly he recounted the whole affair and his failure to Mr. Levi.  The old man smiled.  “You are no match for either of these.  You have given the maiden offense, just offense.”

“Just offence!  Mr. Levi.  Now don’t ye say so; why, how?”

“By your unskillfulness, my son.”

“It is all very well for you to say that, sir, but I can tell you women are kittle folk—­manage them who can?  I don’t know what to do, I’m sure.”

“Stay at home and till the land,” replied Isaac, somewhat dryly.  “I will go to Grassmere Farm.”

CHAPTER IX.

“You going to leave us, Mr. Eden, and going to live in a jail?  Oh!  Mr. Eden, I can’t bear to think of it.  You to be cooped up there among thieves and rogues, and perhaps murderers?”

“They have the more need of me.”

“And you, who love the air of heaven so; why, sir, I see you take off your very hat at times to enjoy it as you are walking along; you would be choked in a prison.  Besides, sir, it is only little parsons that go there.”

“What are little parsons?”

“Those that are not clever enough or good enough to be bishops and vicars, and so forth; not such ones as you.”

“How odd!  This is exactly what the Devil whispered in my ear when the question was first raised, but I did not expect to find you on his side.”