“Ay, but sometimes when I’m down, the devil ’e comes, and ’e says, ‘You go and ’ave a _drink_, Tom, it will do you good’; and ’e keeps on a-whisperin’ ‘Go and ’ave a drink, Tom, go and ’ave a drink, Tom,’ and so I goes at last, and ’as three or four!” “Tell the devil to shut up, and do you go to the barber.” “’E’s away this week thatching,” was the amazing reply. “Well, when he comes back get shaved, and you won’t know yourself! Then I’d like to give you one of my old coats, and a tie, and a few collars--we are about the same size--and Miss Dilly won’t recognise you; and after that, mind you take no notice of her; but share your hymn-book with Nellie Hann--ask her out walking of an evening, and I bet you anything you like, you will have Miss Dilly after you like a shot!” “Well, mate, I’ll do it,” said Tom moodily; “but it’s a tricky business walkin’ with another girl--she might take notions--and if it falls out badly with Dilly, I’ll drown myself, but thank you all the same.” After a long and brooding silence, Tom struggled to his feet and scratched his head-- “If ye understood what it was to be _set_ on a girl--you would know what a misery I feel; but you are not built that way, as any one can see--and now I must go back to my job, or I’ll have the old lady on to me. She stands in the landing window, a-watching like a cat at a mouse-hole. It’s not so much the work--as that she likes to see us _a-slaving_. Well, I’ll take yer advice, and I am much obliged to ye.” And, shouldering his spade, Tom lurched away, with long uneven strides. “Now, what did you do that for?” Wynyard asked himself. “You silly idiot! giving advice and putting your finger in other people’s pies. Why should you meddle?” No answer being forthcoming from the recesses of his inner consciousness, he rose and stretched himself, and presently returned to his struggle with a contrary old lawn-mower. By chance, the very next evening, on the road to Brodfield, Wynyard came upon Dilly and the insurance agent; they were evidently about to part, and were exchanging emphatic last words. He accosted them in a cheery, off-hand manner, and after a few trivial remarks about the weather, and the heat, said-- “As I suppose you are going back, Miss Topham, we might as well walk together. May I have the honour of your company?” Dilly beamed and giggled, the agent glowered and muttered inarticulately; but he was a little in awe of the chauffeur chap, with his quiet manners, steady eye, and indefinable suggestion of a reserve force never exerted--and with a snort and a “So long, Miss Dilly!” he mounted his bike, and sped homewards. Dilly was both amazed and enchanted. So, after all, she had made an impression on this quiet, good-looking Owen chap! and for him, did he wish to “walk out with her,” she was ready--to speak the brutal, naked truth--to throw over both Ernest Sands and Tom Hogben. “I’m glad to have met you like this,” he said, as they proceeded side by side.