As she stood by the hedge on one occasion after having tastefully disposed the contents of a basket on its prickly surface, she was hailed by a voice from the road. “Be this Widow Melmouth’s?” The girl peered over the hedge at the speaker, her curly hair flapping in the breeze, her cheeks pinker than ever, partly from her recent exertions, partly from excitement. There stood a stalwart young countryman in corduroys and leggings, a bundle in one hand, a stout stick in the other. He had a brown, good-humoured face, with twinkling blue eyes, and a smile that displayed the most faultless teeth in the world. “This be Widow Melmouth’s, bain’t it?” he repeated, altering the form of his question. “It be,” returned Rosy; then she nodded towards the house. “My aunt’s inside,” said she. Both, from opposite sides of the hedge, directed their steps towards the gate. “Your aunt?” said the young man. “Then we be cousins, I suppose?” And thereupon as each paused beside the gate, and before Rosy had time to realise his intentions, he leaned across and kissed her. “How dare you!” cried Rosy, springing back and rubbing her cheek vigorously, while tears of anger started to her eyes. “How dare you, Mr. Fry? Cousins, indeed! We be no such thing, and I’ll trouble you not to take liberties. You’ll find your aunt indoor.” With that she stalked back to her wash-tub. “He’s come,” she announced as she passed Mrs. Melmouth, who was engaged in rinsing out a few fine things in a crock. “Who? Simon! I’m glad to hear it. Ye’d best come out a minute and make acquaintance.” “I’ve made quite acquaintance enough,” retorted Rosy, plunging her arms into the suds. “He’s an impudent chap!” “I’ll go warrant you are a bit jealous,” said Mrs. Melmouth, and with a chuckle she went forth to greet her guest. Indeed, from the very first it seemed evident that Rosy had good cause for jealousy. Mrs. Melmouth seemed never tired of commenting on Simon’s likeness to her family, prefacing her remarks with the assertion that she had always been dearly fond of Sister Mary. She further observed two or three times during the course of the evening that blood was certainly thicker than water, and that a body should think o’ their own afore lookin’ round for other folks. Poor Rosy, hot and tired after her exertions at the wash-tub, took these hints in rather evil part; not, indeed, that she was of a grasping nature, but that she had an indefinable feeling of having been unfairly dealt with.