Alfred grinned. Beneath the crust of an upper-servant’s manner, he caught a glimpse of that rare and refreshing fruit—sympathy. And he was well aware of the butler’s affection for his kinswoman. “Ah-h-h! When she were a settin’ on my knee las’ night, with her dinky arms roun’ my neck, and her lil’ mouth——” “That will do,” said Fishpingle, drily. “Obviously, the maid wants you. Now, let me see—your grandfather lived to a ripe old age, didn’t he?” Alfred nodded eagerly. “Granfer, he lived to be a hundred an’ two. Yas, he did. An’ he could carry more ale, an’ mead, an’ cider, wi’out showing it, than any man in Nether Applewhite. An’ smokin’ like a chimbley all the time. A most wonnerful man was granfer.” Fishpingle pursed up his lips, judicially, and his tone became magisterial. “But your father is dead, Alfred. What killed him?” Alfred laughed incredulously. Let it not be imputed to him for heartlessness. “You ain’t never forgotten how pore dear father died. Mother killed un.” “Nonsense, my lad.” “’Tis true as true. Mother, pore soul, she put carbolic acid in an ale bottle. Father—you mind he was Sir Geoffrey’s shepherd?” Fishpingle inclined his head. “Well, he come home-along tarr’ble thirsty, an’, dang me! if he didn’t take a swig out o’ ale bottle. Doctor said ’twould have killed any other man in two jiffs, but father he lived two hours in most tarr’ble agony. ’Twas a very sad mishap.” Alfred sniffed, overcome by his emotions. Fishpingle nodded. “I’m sorry, my boy. My memory is not quite what it was. Well, it seems that Prudence wants you and that you want her.” Alfred smiled again. He began to plead his case excitedly. “I’ve money in bank, I have. And strong arms to work and fend for her. God A’mighty knows I be fair achin’ for her. I earns good wages, I do. And when you retire, sir, I be countin’ on steppin’ into your shoes.” “You’ll never quite fill them.” “That be sober truth. I’ve a dinky lil’ foot I have.” “You can go.” Alfred jumped up. “Then it be right and tight seemin’ly?” Fishpingle looked at him. “Suppose Sir Geoffrey objected?” Alfred laughed gaily. “You can get round un. We all knows that. ’Tis the common sayin’ that you be lard o’ the monor of Nether Applewhite in all but name.” “Off with you!” Alfred burst into song. “And now I’ll marry my own pretty maid, So handsome, and so cle—ver!” Fishpingle held up his hand. “Don’t sing! And—not a word of this to Prudence till I’ve spoken to her.” Alfred nodded and withdrew. Alone, once more, Fishpingle moved restlessly about the room. He was sensible of some premonition of trouble, some lurking doubt of his power to smooth the path of these simple lovers, some fear that interference on his part might be obstinately resented. Work might have distracted him, but for the moment there was not work enough for two able-bodied footmen, not to mention the odd man, who laboured more abundantly than them all.