“No!” said I, half laughing. But she went on as grave as a judge. “Ay! you see you’ll laugh at the bare thought on it—and I’ll be bound th’ minister, though he’s not a laughing man, would ha’ sniggled at th’ notion of falling in love wi’ the child. Where’s Holdsworth off to?” “Canada,” said I, shortly. “Canada here, Canada there,” she replied, testily. “Tell me how far he’s off, instead of giving me your gibberish. Is he a two days’ journey away? or a three? or a week?” “He’s ever so far off—three weeks at the least,” cried I in despair. “And he’s either married, or just going to be. So there.” I expected a fresh burst of anger. But no; the matter was too serious. Betty sate down, and kept silence for a minute or two. She looked so miserable and downcast, that I could not help going on, and taking her a little into my confidence. “It is quite true what I said. I know he never spoke a word to her. I think he liked her, but it’s all over now. The best thing we can do—the best and kindest for her—and I know you love her, Betty—” “I nursed her in my arms; I gave her little brother his last taste o’ earthly food,” said Betty, putting her apron up to her eyes. “Well! don’t let us show her we guess that she is grieving; she’ll get over it the sooner. Her father and mother don’t even guess at it, and we must make as if we didn’t. It’s too late now to do anything else.” “I’ll never let on; I know nought. I’ve known true love mysel’, in my day. But I wish he’d been farred before he ever came near this house, with his ‘Please Betty’ this, and ‘Please Betty’ that, and drinking up our new milk as if he’d been a cat. I hate such beguiling ways.” I thought it was as well to let her exhaust herself in abusing the absent Holdsworth; if it was shabby and treacherous in me, I came in for my punishment directly. “It’s a caution to a man how he goes about beguiling. Some men do it as easy and innocent as cooing doves. Don’t you be none of “em, my lad. Not that you’ve got the gifts to do it, either; you’re no great shakes to look at, neither for figure, nor yet for face, and it would need be a deaf adder to be taken in wi’ your words, though there may be no great harm in em.” A lad of nineteen or twenty is not flattered by such an out-spoken opinion even from the oldest and ugliest of her sex; and I was only too glad to change the subject by my repeated injunctions to keep Phillis’s secret. The end of our conversation was this speech of hers,— “You great gaupus, for all you’re called cousin o’ th’ minister—many a one is cursed wi’ fools for cousins—d’ye think I can’t see sense except through your spectacles? I give you leave to cut out my tongue, and nail it up on th’ barn-door for a caution to magpies, if I let out on that poor wench, either to herself, or any one that is hers, as the Bible says. Now you’ve heard me speak Scripture language, perhaps you’ll be content, and leave me my kitchen to myself.”