"Yo'll alter yo'r tune afore th' week's out, my lass," put in Mrs. Walker. "In a word, will ta ha' our Ben here? What he's so set on thee for 'mazes me. But he is set on thee, an' yo' sud be thankful he'll cast a look yo'r way when it's wi' th' quality he sud be speikin' at this very minnit, i'stead o' draggin' his mother up this rutty owd hill to a tumbledown ram-shackle owd sheep-pen not fit for a lady to put her foot inside on. Will ta ha' him, an' be a lady in silk an' satins, an' a servant o' yo'r own, an' a gig to drive abaat in, an' th' fat o' th' land to live' on?" "Noa, aw winnot, aw winnot, aw winnot, so there's yo'r answer, an' if he comes near me or after me agen, there's one'll fetch as many colours on his back as th' weaver's put in his weskit." "Then awst dahn to Milnsbrig this very neet," said Ben Walker, "an' tell owd Radcliffe all aw know abaat Rawfolds, an' that long-legged tally o' yo'rn shall go th' same gait as Mellor an' Thorpe." And now I had a lucky inspiration--like a flash came into my head what Mr. Radcliffe had said to me: 'Thank your stars, Justice Radcliffe does not listen to every idle story that comes to his ears.' So I drew a bow at a venture: "Go to Mr. Radcliffe and welcome," I said. "Tha's been before, an' told him all tha knows, an' more nor yo' could prove, an' yo' know nowt came on it. Dost think he'll tak more heed o' a second telling?" Ben Walker and his mother exchanged glances and their faces fell, so I gathered courage and pushed my advantage. "Go! aw tell yo'. Aw've known 'at yo' tell'd him long sin' all yo' knew about me, an' he put it aside. Aw've noan yo' to thank 'at aw'm here to tell yo' on it." "Who telled yo'?" gasped Ben, off his guard. "Mr. Radcliffe hissen," I cried, with the ring of triumph in my voice, "an' he towd me, too, if ever I fun out who'd peached, aw'd his permission to break every bone in his body, an', by God, if yo'r not off this hillside before aw count twenty, aw'll take him at his word," and I strode with uplifted arm towards the craven that shrank away. He needed no second telling, and his mother followed him crest-fallen: and never but once again did Ben Walker, to my knowledge, set foot on the threshold he had trod so often as a tolerated if not a welcome guest. "Whatever did ta mean, Ben?" said my mother to me, when she had watched the pair part way down the hill, to make sure, she said, they pocketed nought: "Whatever did ta mean?" "Never yo' mind, mother," I replied. "There's no good i' talking overmuch about such things. Anyway, it's been enough for yon' lot an' that should be good enough for you." "Aw do believe he made it," said my mother to Mary, in a tone of admiration. And from that day she conceived a higher respect for my intellect than years of honest truth had been able to inspire.