An elderly man leaned over the stile and smiled. "Nay, Mr. Bonnithorne, there's ower much nastment in the weather yet." The gentleman took off his silk hat and mopped his forehead. His hair was thin and of a pale yellow, and was smoothed flat on his brow. "You surprise me! I thought the weather perfect. See how blue the sky is." "That doesn't argy. It might be better with never a blenk of blue. It was rayder airy yesterday, and last night the moon got up as blake and yellow as May butter." The smile was perpetual on the gentleman's face. It showed his teeth constantly. "You dalesmen are so weather-wise." The voice was soft and womanish. There was a little laugh at the end of each remark. "We go by the moon in firing, sir," the charcoal-burner answered, "Last night it rose sou'-west, and that doesn't mean betterment, though it's quiet enough now. There'll be clashy weather before nightfall." The girl strayed away into the thicket, and startled a woodcock out of a heap of dead oak leaves. The gentleman followed her with his eyes. They were very small and piercing eyes, and they blinked frequently. "Your daughter does not look very well, Matthew." "She's gayly, sir; she's gayly," said the charcoal-burner shortly, his mouth in his can of tea. The gentleman smiled from the teeth out. After a pause, he said: "I suppose it isn't pleasant when one of your hurdles is blown down, and the charcoal burning," indicating the wooden hurdles which had been propped about the half-built charcoal stack. "Ey, it's gay bad wark, to be sure--being dragged into the fire." The dog had risen with a startled movement. Following the upward direction of the animal's nose, the gentleman said, "Whose sheep are those on the ghyll yonder?" "Auld Mr. Ritson's, them herdwicks." The sheep were on a ridge of shelving rock. "Dangerous spot, eh?" "Ey, it's a bent place. They're verra clammersome, the black-faced sorts." "I'll bid you good-day, Matthew." The yellow-haired elderly gentleman was moving off. He walked with a jerk and a spring on his toes. "And mind you take your daughter to the new doctor at Keswick," he said at parting. "It's not doctoring that'll mend Mercy," the charcoal-burner muttered, when the other had gone. CHAPTER III.