When confronted with Tom, Wynyard found him to be a man of thirty, in rough working clothes, with one of the finest faces he had ever seen, a square forehead, clear-cut features, and a truly noble and benevolent expression. The general effect was considerably marred by the fact that Tom wore his thick brown hair several inches too long, and a fringe of whiskers framed his face and met under his chin, precisely as his father’s and grandfather’s had done. “Tom, here be Miss Parrett’s shover,” announced his mother, “the man-servant, you know, as will bide with us. You’ll take him in hand, and show him about, eh?” “Ay, ay,” agreed Tom, seating himself heavily at table; then, addressing the guest-- “It’s very tricky weather?” “Yes, it generally is in April.” Tom stared hard at the newcomer. The young man used grand words, had a strong look in his face, was well set-up--and clean-shaved of a Wednesday! “Yer from London, eh? One can see that. Ye must be as hungry as a dog.” With an impulse of hospitality, he pushed the loaf towards him, and subsequently experienced a sense of relief and pleasure as he noticed the new chap’s hands, the hands of a working man! The meal consisted of home-made bread, boiled eggs, cold bacon, and tea. The two hungry men made considerable ravages on bread and bacon, and no attempts at conversation. Meanwhile, Mrs. Hogben’s sharp eyes and wits were still engaged in taking stock of the newcomer. He did not say much, but when he did speak, it was the pure talk of gentry-folk; yet, he was not uppish, his coat was well worn, and he spoke quite humble-like to Miss Susan. After a short silence, Mrs. Hogben--a notable gossip--undertook the talking for all three. “Of course it was Miss Parrett herself as come here about a room for you, Mr. Owen, and says she to me, ‘I want you to take a respectable young man on reasonable terms; of course I can’t have him at the Manor, on account of the maids.’” “Why not?” inquired her lodger, with his mouth full. “’Cause,” with a laugh, “she thought you might be making love to them, I expect! And says she, ‘Mrs. Hogben, you having no daughters, and no young woman in the house, it will be quite safe.’” “Oh, I see,” he assented, with an amused smile. “Though for that matter,” and she nodded at Tom, “I’m going to have a daughter-in-law one of these days.” Tom buried his face in a mug and spluttered. “Ay, it’s Dilly Topham, and a main pretty girl too; but Tom will mind _her_.” “Miss Parrett is terrible strict,” said Tom, recovering his self-possession, “and this do be a model village”; and he winked at Wynyard. “I’m none so sure!” objected his mother; “there’s a good lot of beer and quarrelling at the Drum, especially of a Saturday night; and there was Katie Punnett--well--well--I say no more.” “Oh, the girls are all right, mother.”