“Everybody do seem to be merry-makin’ to-day,” she went on, with a little toss of the head that contradicted a certain quiver in her voice. “I thought I’d come out too, and take my tea here. I don’t hurt nothin’. I d’ ’low the wild things do know me quite well. I often walk here of an evenin’ and the rabbits scarce run out of my road. I do whoot like the owls and they do answer me back, and bats come flyin’ round my head--I often fancy I could catch ’em if I had a mind to.” “Do ye?” said Robert. He was bending down, resting a hand on either knee, and peering up at her with a twinkle in his eye. She nodded, and dropping on her knees beside the fire began to draw together the embers with a crooked stick, and to turn over the potatoes. “They be very near done now,” she said; “this one be quite done--will ye try it?” Sitting back upon her heels she held it out to him with a timid smile. Robert, shaking his head half-waggishly, half-dubiously, took it from her. “’Tisn’t right, ye know,” he protested, “nay, ’tisn’t right. I didn’t ought to be encouragin’ of ye in such ways.” “I’ve got some salt here,” cried she, rummaging in her basket and bringing forth a twisted paper which she unfolded and held out, poised on her little pink palm. Robert deliberately sat down, broke the potato in two, and dipped one of the smoking halves in the salt. “Ye mustn’t do this no more,” he remarked severely; “nay, I’m not encouragin’ of ye, ye understand; ’tisn’t allowed--this here’s a warnin’.” Here he took a bite out of the potato--“Ye can be summonsed next time.” The girl deposited the paper of salt upon the ground, and, extracting another potato from the ashes, proceeded to peel it deftly with a pocket-knife. “Have ye got tea in that there basket?” inquired Robert, still sternly. “’Tisn’t made yet,” she replied, “but kettle ’ull boil in a minute.” She pulled the basket towards her and unpacked it with great rapidity. “So that’s the kettle, is it?” commented Robert, as a sooty object came to light, partially enveloped in a newspaper. He weighed it in his hand. “There’s nought in it--eh, I see you’ve got water in yon bottle. Shall I fill it?” She nodded, and then making a pounce on a small bottle of milk, endeavoured to uncork it. As the cork did not yield, she was preparing to loosen it with her teeth when Robert interposed. “Here, hand o’er! What mun ye go breakin’ your teeth for,” he inquired gruffly; “ye’ll noan find it so easy to get more when they’re gone--more o’ the same mak’ as how ’tis. They’re as white as chalk--and chalk’s easy broke.” He produced a large clasp-knife, and selecting a corkscrew from the multiplicity of small implements which were attached to it, drew out the cork with a flourish. But the sight of the knife, which had been a present from his former master, recalled graver thoughts, and it was in a harsh admonitory tone that he next spoke:--