“Good luck,” whispered Martha, seizing the hand in her powerful grasp. “Mind you put lots o’ spunk into it all!” And as she spoke the words she remembered the request that had been made to her by her one-time sweetheart as she came in! Well, she had fulfilled it! And without another word she sped down the walk, and was out on the downs before Dan Moss and her husband had reached the gate. “What, ye be never off in such a darned ’urry!” cried the former as she came up to them. “I won’t stand that! Ye’ve got to come back and both on ye ’ave a drink for old times’ sake.” “Thank you kindly,” said she. “We don’t often drink nothin’ but a glass o’ beer o’ dinner-time don’t Bill and me.” “Well, ye’ll ’ave to this time,” insisted the man hospitably. “This pore man o’ yourn’s just pumped out.” “Oh, ’e be right enough, bain’t ye, Bill?” said she. “Yes, I be right enough,” agreed the man addressed, and wouldn’t have dared to admit the contrary. “A warm posset’s the best thing for ’im when ’e gets to bed. So we’ll just get along and see to it.” She buttoned his coat tight about his throat as she spoke, and gave him a friendly thump on the back. “Yer wife’s tired,” she added. “She ought to turn in too. The brat ain’t very old yet.” “Tired, be she?” said Moss, and scratched his head. “Well, if ye won’t, ye won’t,” he added presently. “So, it’s good-night to ye.” “Good-night,” echoed the husband and wife in one breath as they turned down the hill. Moss stood a minute looking after them, whistling a rowdy, popular song in a slow, contemplative sort of way. Then he turned with a chuckle. “Rum lot,” he said to himself as he opened his garden-gate. At the porch the little wife stood waiting. Her eyes were dry and there was a pretty smile on her lips. “Ye are nice and early to-night,” she said affectionately. “Why, ye asked me to come ’ome early, didn’t ye?” he whispered, pinching her ear. And she did not say that she always made that request without it’s being always attended to. “But ye ain’t been lonesome this time,” he added. “’Aven’t you and Mrs. Hewson had a nice chat?” “Yes,” she said doubtfully. He laughed his jolly laugh. “Ye don’t care over much for the woman, I can see,” chuckled he. “Well, she be a bit rumbustious though a well-meanin’ wench enough. I used to half-fancy ’er myself once, but she bain’t my style, I likes ’em cosier nor that.” And he drew his wife’s smooth, fair head to his bosom and kissed her. “See ’ere,” said he, “I’ve bought ye a present.” He untied the brown-paper parcel and spread out a black silk dress. Milly’s eyes shone and she clapped her hands. “For me! What, niver!” she murmured. “Oh, ain’t it!” he chuckled. “You should ha’ ’ad it long ago only I ’adn’t just got the cash ’andy. There!” and he threw it across to her merrily. “You be kind to me, Dan,” whispered she, and she threw her arms round his neck.