“Nay, nay, I don’t want you to wear a Methodist cap like Dinah’s.  I daresay it’s a very ugly cap, and I used to think when I saw her here as it was nonsense for her to dress different t’ other people; but I never rightly noticed her till she came to see mother last week, and then I thought the cap seemed to fit her face somehow as th ‘acorn-cup fits th’ acorn, and I shouldn’t like to see her so well without it.  But you’ve got another sort o’ face; I’d have you just as you are now, without anything t’ interfere with your own looks.  It’s like when a man’s singing a good tune—­you don’t want t’ hear bells tinkling and interfering wi’ the sound.”

He took her arm and put it within his again, looking down on her fondly.  He was afraid she should think he had lectured her, imagining, as we are apt to do, that she had perceived all the thoughts he had only half-expressed.  And the thing he dreaded most was lest any cloud should come over this evening’s happiness.  For the world he would not have spoken of his love to Hetty yet, till this commencing kindness towards him should have grown into unmistakable love.  In his imagination he saw long years of his future life stretching before him, blest with the right to call Hetty his own:  he could be content with very little at present.  So he took up the basket of currants once more, and they went on towards the house.

The scene had quite changed in the half-hour that Adam had been in the garden.  The yard was full of life now:  Marty was letting the screaming geese through the gate, and wickedly provoking the gander by hissing at him; the granary-door was groaning on its hinges as Alick shut it, after dealing out the corn; the horses were being led out to watering, amidst much barking of all the three dogs and many “whups” from Tim the ploughman, as if the heavy animals who held down their meek, intelligent heads, and lifted their shaggy feet so deliberately, were likely to rush wildly in every direction but the right.  Everybody was come back from the meadow; and when Hetty and Adam entered the house-place, Mr. Poyser was seated in the three-cornered chair, and the grandfather in the large arm-chair opposite, looking on with pleasant expectation while the supper was being laid on the oak table.  Mrs. Poyser had laid the cloth herself—­a cloth made of homespun linen, with a shining checkered pattern on it, and of an agreeable whitey-brown hue, such as all sensible housewives like to see—­none of your bleached “shop-rag” that would wear into holes in no time, but good homespun that would last for two generations.  The cold veal, the fresh lettuces, and the stuffed chine might well look tempting to hungry men who had dined at half-past twelve o’clock.  On the large deal table against the wall there were bright pewter plates and spoons and cans, ready for Alick and his companions; for the master and servants ate their supper not far off each other; which was all the pleasanter, because if a remark about to-morrow morning’s work occurred to Mr. Poyser, Alick was at hand to hear it.