He was helping her as he spoke to pick up the scattered furniture, and to restore the table-cloth and books, which Andrew had dragged down in falling, to their places. These tasks ended, he faced her with a jovial smile. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘he won’t trouble you again, anyhow. There’s one o’ your coortin’ chaps a-gone for good.’ ‘I wish you could get rid of them all in the same way,’ said Rosalie gratefully; adding in a confidential tone, ‘there’s Mr. Wilson, now—he keeps calling and calling, and he follows me about, and pays me compliments—he is very tiresome.’ ‘Be he?’ returned the farmer with a clouded brow. ‘Ah, and he bain’t a chap for you to be takin’ notice on, nohow. I’d give ’en the sack if I was you.’ ‘Why, you see, I don’t like to be rude; and he was kind about the pigs. But I wish some one would drop him a hint that he is wasting his time in dangling about me.’ She broke off suddenly, for at that moment the interested and excited countenance of Sam Belbin appeared in the doorway, and, though he was a favourite with his mistress, she did not see fit to discuss such intimate affairs in his hearing. The news of Isaac Sharpe’s encounter with young Andrew Burge soon flew round the neighbourhood, evoking much comment, and causing constructions to be placed upon the farmer’s motives which, if he had heard them, would have sorely disquieted that good man. ‘He be a-goin’ to coort Widow Fiander hisself, for certain,’ averred Mrs. Paddock. ‘D’ ye mind how I did say that day as there was all the trouble yonder at Littlecomb—“How nice,” says I, “master did speak of her!”—d’ ye mind? He were quite undone about her. “Pore young creatur’,” says he, so feelin’ as he could. “D’ ye mind? Mrs. Belbin,” I said, says I, “master be a very feelin’ man.”’ ‘Ah, I can mind as you said that,’ returned Mrs. Belbin; ‘but my Sam he d’ ’low as Mrs. Fiander would n’t so much as look at master. “Not another old man,” says he. And, mind ye,’ added Mrs. Belbin, confidentially dropping her voice, ‘Sam’s missus do think a deal o’ he.’ Mrs. Paddock folded her arms, and looked superciliously at her neighbour. ‘Nay now,’ said she, ‘your Sam ’ull find hisself mistook if he gets set on sich a notion as that.’ ‘What notion?’ returned the other innocently. ‘I never said nothin’ about no notion at all. You’ve a-got such a suspectin’ mind, Mrs. Paddock, there’s no tellin’ you a bit o’ news wi’out you up an’ take a body’s character away.’ At this moment the impending hostilities between the two matrons were averted by the advent of a third—Mrs. Stuckhey by name, wife of Robert Stuckhey, who worked at Littlecomb.