Mrs. Chaffey was at length goaded into an answer. “If she did it wouldn’t be so very much. I wouldn’t think meself at all beholden to her--no, that I wouldn’t. Seein’ that she’s got dozens of ’em a-runnin’ about her place, I don’t think I need be so very thankful if she do spare a couple every now an’ then, an’ a ham at Christmas, wi’ all the pigs they’ve got.” “A ham!” ejaculated Mrs. Cross. “A _ham_! Why, they _must_ be doin’ pretty well!” “Well--not so bad,” conceded Mrs. Chaffey, very unwillingly. “Connor, he did take a kind o’ little farm a few year ago, a kind o’ dairy farm. They’ve a-got pigs an’ chickens an’ sich-like--a deal of ’em. I hope there mayn’t be too many,” she added darkly. “I hope they mayn’t be a-livin’ too free an’ a-spendin’ too fast. I hope not. I hope there mayn’t be a day o’ reckonin’ comin’.” She shook her head in an ominous manner, and Mrs. Cross hastened to follow her example. “They bain’t a-layin’ anything by, ye may be sure,” she exclaimed conclusively. A kind of spasm crossed the other lady’s face, and she rose hastily, remarking that if she didn’t begin to straighten up a bit she wouldn’t get the house put to rights before bedtime. Mrs. Cross took the hint, rose likewise, and backed meditatively towards the door. “Well, ’tis a strange tale what you’ve a-told I, Mrs. Chaffey, an’ I do feel for ye terr’ble. As for that there voolish----” She paused suddenly, a slow grin dawning on her face. “She don’t seem to ha’ done so very bad for herself, after all,” she remarked, and vanished. SWEETBRIAR LANE. “There they go,” said Grandmother Legg, “a-marchin’ off together so happy as a king and a queen.” Susan Ball, a visitor from the town, craned her head round the door-post and gazed after the young couple with interest. David Samson, a big broad-shouldered, rather awkward looking young fellow was walking arm-in-crook with Rebecca Yeatman, Mrs. Legg’s orphan granddaughter. A little slender fair-haired thing, lissom and graceful in all her movements was Rebecca--she looked like an elf as she paced along beside her cumbersome lover. “They’ve a-been a-courtin’ a long time, haven’t they, mum?” queried Miss Ball. “They’ve a-been coortin’,” responded Grandmother Legg emphatically, “since they was no higher than nothin’ at all. Dear, yes! he’d come Sunday after Sunday same as if they was reg’lar coortin’ folk, an’ Rebecca, she’d lay down her doll, and fetch her hat, an’ walk off so serious as a grown-up maid. Poor Legg--he had all his senses then same as anybody else--he’d laugh fit to split he would.” Miss Ball looked towards the chimney corner where Grandfather Legg was now installed and received from that worthy old gentleman a smile calculated to give any weak-minded person a “turn,” accompanied by some unintelligible remark delivered in a quavering treble. Miss Ball, who was not troubled with nerves, smiled back at him and nodded cheerfully.