"Aye," Mrs. Dixon would comment with an evil smile, "that's him! That's Haworth! He's a noice chap--is Haworth. _I_ know him." Mrs. Haworth learned in time to fear her and to speak timidly in her presence, rarely referring to the subject of her boy's benefactions. "Only as it wouldn't be nat'ral," she said once to Mrs. Briarley, "I should think she was set agen him." "Eh! bless us," was Mrs. Briarley's answer. "Yo' need na moind _her_. She's set agen ivverybody. She's th' nowtest owd piece i' Christendom." A few days after Haworth had awakened to find his mother standing near him, Mrs. Haworth paid a visit to the Briarleys. She took with her a basket, which the poor of Broxton had long since learned to know. In this case it contained stockings for the little Briarleys and a dress or so for the baby. When she had bestowed her gifts and seated herself, she turned to Granny Dixon with some tremor of manner. "I hope you're well, ma'am," she said. Granny Dixon made no reply. She sat bent over in her chair, regarding her for a few seconds with unblinking gaze. Then she slowly pointed with her thin, crooked finger to the little presents. "He sent 'em, did he?" she trumpeted forth. "Haworth?" Mrs. Haworth quailed before her. "Yes, ma'am," she answered, "leastways----" Granny Dixon stopped her. "He did nowt o' th' soart," she cried. "Tha'rt leein'!" The little woman made an effort to rise, turned pale, and sat down again. "Ma'am----" she began. Granny Dixon's eyes sparkled. "Tha'rt leein'," she repeated. "He's th' worst chap i' England, and aw Broxton knows it." Her victim uttered a low cry of pain. Mrs. Briarley had left the room, and there was no one to help her. All the hints and jeers she had heard rushed back to her, but she struggled to stand up against them. "It ain't true," she said. "It ain't--true." Granny Dixon was just beginning to enjoy herself. A difference of opinion with Mrs. Briarley, which had occurred a short time before, had prepared her for the occasion. She knew that nothing would so much demoralize her relative and hostess as this iniquitous outbreak. "They've been warnin' me to keep quiet an' not tell thee," she answered, "but I towd 'em I'd tell thee when I wur i' th' humor, an' I'm i' th' humor now. Will Ffrench wur a devil, but _he's_ a bigger one yet. He kep' thee away because he did na want thee to know. He set aw th' place by th' ears. A decent woman would na cross his door-step, nor a decent mon, fur aw his brass--afore tha coom. Th' lot as he used to ha' down fro' Lunnon an' Manchester wur a shame to th' town. _I've_ seed 'em--women in paint an' feathers, an' men as decent lasses hide fro'. A good un, wur he? Aye, he wur a good un, for sure."