"And the money comes somehow," said Tom o' Dint, who had finished the knife and was testing its edge in whittling a stick. Matthew got up from his seat. "I'll come again for the picks, John," he said quietly; and the old man stepped out of the bright glow into the chill haze. "Mattha has never been the same since laal Mercy left him," said the blacksmith. "Any news of her?" asked the peddler. "Ax Tom o' Dint; he's the postman, and like to know if anybody in Newlands gets the scribe of a line from the wench," said the miller. Tom shakes his head. "You could tell summat, an' you would, ey, Tom?" said the blacksmith, showing his teeth. "Don't you misliken me," said the rural messenger in his husky tones; "I'm none of your Peeping Toms." And the postman drew up his head with as much pride of office as could be assumed by a gentleman of bowed legs and curtailed stature. "It baffles me as Mattha hisself could make nowt of his royalty in the Hammer Hole, if there was owt to make out of it," said the miller from the gate, buttoning his coat up to his ears. "I've heard as he had a mind to try his luck again," said Giles Raisley. "Nay, nay, nowt of the sort," said the blacksmith. "When the laal lass cut away and left the auld chap he lost heart and couldn't bear the sight of the spot where she used to bide. So he started back to his bit place on Coledale Moss. But Hugh Ritson followed him and bought up his royalty--for nowt, as they say--and set him to wark for wage in his own sinking--the same that ruined the auld man lang ago." "And he's like to see a fortun' come out of it yet," said Giles. "It won't be Mattha's fortun', then." "Nay, never fear," said the miner. Gubblum shook the ashes out of his pipe, and said meditatively, "Mattha's like me and the cuckoo." "Why, man, how's that?" said the blacksmith, girding his leather apron in a band about his waist. A fresh heat was in the fire; the bellows were belching; the palpitating flames were licking the smoky hood. A twinkle lurked in the blacksmith's eye. "How's that?" he repeated. "He's allus stopping short too soon," said Gubblum. "My missis, she said to me last back end, 'Gubblum,' she said, 'dusta mind as it's allus summer when the cuckoo is in the garden?' 'That's what is is,' I said. 'Well,' she said, 'dusta not think it wad allus be summer if the cuckoo could allus be kept here?' 'Maybe so,' I says; 'but easier said nor done.' 'Shaf on you for a clothead!' says she; 'nowt so simple. When you get the cuckoo into the garden, build a wall round and keep it in.' And that's what I did; and I built it middling high, too, but it warn't high enough, for, wad ye think it, one day I saw the cuckoo setting off, and it just skimmed the top of that wall by a bare inch. Now, if I'd no'but put another stone--" A loud peal of laughter was Gubblum's swift abridgment. The peddler tapped the mouth of his pipe on his thumb-nail, and smiled under his shaggy brows. CHAPTER II.