of smartening himself up after work and going for company to the village street, he would walk down the secluded lane near the farm to spend the hour before supper and bedtime sitting on a gate, brooding on his misery; and if by chance he met Marty in the village he would try to avoid her, and was silent and uncomfortable in her presence. After work, one hot summer evening, Johnnie was walking along the road near the farm in his working clothes, clay-coloured boots, and old dusty hat, when who should he see but Marty coming towards him, looking very sweet and fresh in her light-coloured print gown. He looked to this side and that for some friendly gap or opening in the hedge so as to take himself out of the road, but there was no way of escape at that spot, and he had to pass her, and so casting down his eyes he walked on, wishing he could sink into the earth out of her sight. But she would not allow him to pass; she put herself directly in his way and spoke. "What's the matter with 'ee, Johnnie, that 'ee don't want to meet me and hardly say a word when I speak to 'ee?" He could not find a word in reply; he stood still, his face crimson, his eyes on the ground. "Johnnie, dear, what is it?" she asked, coming closer and putting her hand on his arm. Then he looked up, and seeing the sweet compassion in her eyes, he could no longer keep the secret of his pain from her. "'Tis 'ee, Marty," he said. "Thee'll never want I--there's others 'ee'll like better. 'Tisn't for I to say a word about that, I'm thinking, for I be--just nothing. An'--an'--I be going away from the village, Marty, and I'll never come back no more." "Oh, Johnnie, don't 'ee say it! Would 'ee go and break my heart? Don't 'ee know I've always loved 'ee since we were little mites together?" And thus it came about that Johnnie, most miserable of men, was all at once made happy beyond his wildest dreams. And he proved himself worthy of her; from that time there was not a more diligent and sober young labourer in the village, nor one of a more cheerful disposition, nor more careful of his personal appearance when, the day's work done, the young people had their hour of social intercourse and courting. Yet he was able to put by a portion of his weekly wages of six shillings to buy sticks, so that when spring came round again he was able to marry and take Marty to live with him in his own cottage. One Sunday afternoon, shortly after this happy event, they went out for a walk on the high down. "Oh, Johnnie, 'tis a long time since we were here together, not since we used to come and play and look for cowslips when we were little."