“Nay, now,” returned Jacob, smiling beneath his thick beard, “I weren’t a-goin’ to bite ye; I was on’y barkin’, maid. Lard, if you did know I, you’d say wi’ the rest of ’em that my bark was worse nor my bite. There! what about this trifle o’ money as I owe for the rates? How much is it? Dally! I don’t know how ’tis, but it fair goes agen me to pay out money for taxes. It do seem so unfair when a man’s farm’s his own--land and house and all--for Government to go and say, ‘You’ve a-got a house, and you’ve a-got land as your father and grandfather have a-bought wi’ their own money--you must pay out for that, my lad; you must hand over whatever we pleases to ax for.’ ’Tisn’t as if they’d consult a man. If they was to say to I, ‘Mr. Fowler, you be a warmish man, and there’s a good few poor folk up i’ the union; what be you willin’ to allow us for them?’ I’d call that fair enough, and I’d tell ’em straight-out what I _was_ willin’ to ’low. But no; they goes and settles it all among theirselves wi’ never a word to nobody, and jist sends out a paper wi’out by your leave or wi’ your leave. ‘You _be_ to pay so much, whether you do like it or whether you don’t.’ ’Tain’t fair.” “I dare say it isn’t, sir,” rejoined Bethia, very meekly; “but I’m not askin’ you on account of the Government--I’m just askin’ you for Father’s sake. He’s fretting terribly, and the doctor says he oughtn’t to upset himself.” “Well, I don’t mind if I do make an end o’ this here business for your father’s sake, maidy; but I d’ ’low I’d jist so soon do it for yours.” “For mine!” “E-es, because you do ask I so pretty. I did speak a bit sharp to ye this mornin’, but it was along o’ being vexed wi’ the Government--I wasn’t really vexed wi’ _you_, my dear.” Bethia began to laugh; her little white teeth flashed out in the most charming way--her bright eyes lit up. Jacob gazed at her with increasing favour. “I bain’t vexed wi’ you, my dear,” he repeated affably, and then suddenly standing up, darted into the house. In a few minutes he emerged again carrying a little packet, which he handed to her. “It be all there, wrapped up i’ that bit o’ paper; you’d best count it and see as it be right. Will ye take a glass o’ milk or summat?” “No, thank you, Mr. Fowler; I’m very much obliged, but I think I must be getting home now. It’s growin’ dark, and my father will be anxious.” “Wouldn’t you like nothin’?” insisted Jacob. “A posy o’ flowers or summat? There’s a-many of ’em growin’ i’ the garden, and nobody ever thinks for to pick ’em.” “Of course not; a man does not care for such things, I know. You live all alone, don’t you, Mr. Fowler?” “All alone, my maid, since my poor mother died. She went to the New House fifteen year ago. I’m what you mid call a reg’lar wold bachelor, I be.” He threw out this last remark with such an obvious wish to be contradicted that Bethia hastened to return, “Not so old as that, I’m sure, Mr. Fowler. My father always speaks of you as a young man.”