"I think, mother," I said--hypocritically, I own it--"that Elsie was feared that you would be for offering something for her work." "And, indeed," said my mother, "what for not? I had as muckle in my mind. Who deserves it better, after all that she has done for me?" This was a better spirit, but it was necessary that I should hold mother's manifestation of affection well in leash also, or she was quite capable of putting on her bonnet and going off to the Bridge End--where she would have heard another story from Elsie. "Elsie's young and shy, mother," I said, to put her off; "but she has a real affection for you. And if she thought you expected her to take siller for her work here--it would hurt her sore. She did it for love." "I doubt it not," said Mistress Caleb, a little dry like--what we call "cut" in our part of the country--"and so will Meysie Caw's bairns do the like. They will do all that Elsie Stennis did, and as ye say, Mr. Joseph, all for love--whilk is a silly word to use. They are brave workers, both of them; and it will be more fitting to have two young lassies in a house than one." "And what for that?" I said, bristling up at once. "Oh," said Mrs. Caleb, "they will be able to do more work!" I knew very well that this was not what she meant, but I was obliged to be content; for Susan Fergusson of the Common Farm was far more subtle in her talk than any laddie of eighteen. "And now," she went on, "I will be takin' my road. Master Joe here will convoy me a bit. The twa lassies will be over early i' the morning. You can tell that great lazy nowt, Bob Kingsman, to come for their bits o' traps wi' a cairt in the afternoon." I walked with her out of the town, and all the way Susan Fergusson entertained me with an account of the many good qualities of Meysie's bairns. And I could see very well that, once installed, she did not mean that they should quit our big and comfortable house in a hurry. And the thought of Elsie nearly drove me out of my mind, to think what she would say and do when she heard of it. Not that I could say I disliked the girls in any way--at least, not Harriet Caw. No man can really in his heart dislike a girl like Harriet. And that was the most dangerous symptom of all--just what the Hayfork Parson would have called the natural, double-dealing, deceitful heart of man. CHAPTER XXI A JACKDAW'S TAIL FEATHER One of the first mornings after the coming of the Caw girls--just as we were all sitting late over our breakfast, having waited for Constantia (Harriet was always on wing with the lark)--Grace Rigley came up the back stairs, shuffling her feet and rubbing her nose with her apron for manners, and told my mother that there was a gamekeeper man who was very anxious to see her down in the kitchen. "Go, Joseph!" said my mother. "See what he wants. I cannot be fashed with such things at such a time."