‘im she’s goin’ to ’ave an’ nobody else, an’ it’s Passon Walden,’ sez she, an’ with that we all gives a big shout, an’ she busts out cryin’ an’ laughin’ together, an’ we all doos the same like the nesh fools we are when a bit o’ news pleases us like,—­an’—­an’—–­” Here Bainton’s voice grew rather husky and tremulous as he proceeded—­“so of course the news went right through the village two minutes arterwards.  An’ it’s all we could do to keep from comin’ up outside ‘ere an’ givin’ ye a rousin’ cheer ‘fore goin’ to bed, onny Mr. Netlips ’e said it wouldn’t be ‘commensurate,’ wotever that is, so we just left it.  Howsomever, I made up my mind I’d be the first to wish ye joy, Passon!—­an’ I wish it true!”

Silently Walden held out his hand.  Bainton grasped it with affectionate respect in his own horny palm.

“Not that I’d ‘ave ever thought you’d a’ bin a marryin’ man, Passon!” he averred, his shrewd eyes lighting up with the kindliest humour—­“But it’s never too late to mend!”

Walden laughed.

“That’s true, Bainton!  It’s never too late to repent of one’s follies and begin to be wise!  Thank you for all your good wishes—­ they come from the heart, I know!  But”—­and his smile softened into an earnest gravity of expression—­“they must be for her—­for Miss Maryllia—­not for me!  I am already happier than I deserve—­but she needs everyone’s good thoughts and prayers to help her to bear her enforced helplessness—­she is very brave—­yet—­it is hard—–­”

He broke off, not trusting himself to say more.

“It’s hard—­it’s powerful hard!” agreed Bainton, sympathetically—­ “Such a wife as she’d a’ made t’ye, Passon, if she’d been as she was when she come in smilin’ an’ trippin’ across this lawn by your side, an’ ye broke off a bit o’ your best lilac for her!  There’s the very bush—­all leafless twigs now, but strong an’ ‘elthy an’ ready to bloom again!  Ah!  I remember that day well!—­’twas the same day as ye sat under the apple tree arter she was gone an’ fastened a threepenny bit with a ’ole in it to ye’re watch chain!  I seed it!  An’ I was fair mazed over that ’oley bit,—­but I found out all about it!—­hor-hor-hor!” and Bainton began to laugh with exceeding delight at his own perspicuity—­“A few minutes’ gossip with old Missis Tapple at the post-office did it!—­hor-hor-hor! for she told me, bless ’er heart!—­as ’ow Miss Vancourt ’ad given it t’ye for fun, as a sort o’ reward like for sendin’ off some telegrams for ’er!  Hor-hor!  There’s naught like a village for findin’ out everybody’s little secrets, an’ our village beats every other one I ever heard tell on at that kind o’ work, it do reely now!  I say, Passon, when they was spreadin’ all the stories round about you an’ Miss Vancourt, I could a’ told a tale about the ’oley bit, couldn’t I?”

“You could indeed!” laughed John, good-naturedly—­“and yet—­I suppose you didn’t!”

“Not I!” said Bainton, stoutly—­“I do talk a bit, but I ain’t Missis Spruce, nor I ain’t turned into a telephone tube yet.  Mebbe I will when I’m a bit older.  ’Ave ye heard, Passon, as ’ow Oliver Leach is dead?”