At this moment Mrs. Cluett’s voice was heard calling aloud for her daughter; that lady’s heavy foot presently sounded in the narrow passage without, and she burst into the room. “Dear, to be sure! Did ever a body see such a maid? Us so busy and clothes not half done wi’! And here ye must stand gawkin’ and gossipin’ as if ’twas the middle of the week. There, drink up your beer, do, good man, and let’s ha’ done wi’ it.” She addressed these words to the newcomer in a somewhat softened tone, and he nodded good-humouredly. “All right, missus; I’ll not be long now,” he said, as he poured out his second glass. “There, for shame, mother, let the poor soul take his drink in peace,” whispered Alice. “He’s come far--from Tewley Warren; he’ve a-been turned out now his father be dead.” Mrs. Cluett, with a soapy hand on either hip, surveyed the young man curiously. “I did use to know Warrener Baverstock well,” she remarked slowly. “Warrener Baverstock up to Chudbury--e-es--I did use to know en.” “He were my father,” remarked the other, with a momentary gleam of pleasure in his eyes. “He did use to come here often and often,” continued Mrs. Cluett, emphatically. “He’d sit there--as mid be where you be a-sittin’ now--and he’d take his glass, he would; a most respectable man he were. My poor husband were alive too in them days--ah, times is changed, bain’t they? Here be I, a poor widow woman wi’ my own livin’ to get, tho’ there’s them as did ought to be gettin’ it for I in my ancient years.” She paused to shake her head. Young Baverstock’s attention seemed to have wandered during the latter part of her speech, and he sipped his ale without evincing any curiosity as to the hint she had recently thrown out. After the manner of her kind, however, she at once proceeded to elucidate it. “’Tisn’t as if I didn’t have somebody as did ought to be a-doin’ for I. There’s my son--a big, strong, hearty chap--my right hand he did use to be--there’s a deal to be done about this here place, ye know.” “I do ’low there is,” agreed Baverstock absently. “’Tisn’t only the public,” she continued, “tho’ I d’ ’low it be a bit hard for two women to have to manage all they menfolk--but there’s a bit of a farm to be seen to. Well, when I say a farm I do mean a couple o’ cows and a few pigs and chicken and that; and we do always grow our own spuds and greens, you know, and a few ranks o’ roots to help out wi’ for the cows in the winter. A man be wanted for all that kind o’ work, and it do seem hard as I should have to throw away my dibs to strangers when I mid have my own flesh and blood a-workin’ for nothin’.” “It do,” agreed Baverstock, this time with more attention. “Why don’t your son do it then?” he inquired after a pause. “Why?” repeated Mrs. Cluett in a tone of deep disgust. “Because he’ve a-been and gone and got married--that’s why, the unnat’ral fellow,” she added witheringly.