"Oh! afterwards there was a lot of men bound over--father among 'em. There was a priest with Mr. Helbeck who got it hot too--that old chap Bowles--I dare say you've seen him. Aye, he's a _snake_, is Helbeck!" the young man repeated. Then he reddened still more deeply, and added with vindictive emphasis--"and an interfering,--hypocritical,--canting sort of party into t' bargain. He'd like to lord it over everybody aboot here, if he was let. But he's as poor as a church rat--who minds him?" The language was extraordinary--so was the tone. Laura had been gazing at the speaker in a growing amazement. "Thank you!" she said impetuously, when Mason stopped. "Thank you!--but, in spite of your story, I don't think you ought to speak like that of the gentleman I am staying with!" Mason threw himself back in his chair. He was evidently trying to control himself. "I didn't mean no offence," he said at last, with a return of the sulky voice. "Of course I understand that you're staying with the quality, and not with the likes of us." Laura's face lit up with laughter. "What an extraordinary silly thing to say! But I don't mind--I'll forgive you--like I did years ago, when you pushed me into the puddle!" "I pushed you into a puddle? But--I never did owt o' t' sort!" cried Mason, in a slow crescendo of astonishment. "Oh, yes, you did," she nodded her little head. "I broke an egg, and you bullied me. Of course I thought you were a horrid boy--and I loved Polly, who cleaned my shoes and put me straight. Where's Polly, is she at church?" "Aye--I dare say," said Mason stupidly, watching his visitor meanwhile with all his eyes. She had just put up a small hand and taken off her cap. Now, mechanically, she began to pat and arrange the little curls upon her forehead, then to take out and replace a hairpin or two, so as to fasten the golden mass behind a little more securely. The white fingers moved with an exquisite sureness and daintiness, the lifted arms showed all the young curves of the girl's form. Suddenly Laura turned to him again. Her eyes had been staring dreamily into the fire, while her hands had been busy with her hair. "So you don't remember our visit at all? You don't remember papa?" He shook his head. "Ah! well"--she sighed. Mason felt unaccountably guilty. "I was always terr'ble bad at remembering," he said hastily. "But you ought to have remembered papa." Then, in quite a different voice, "Is this your sitting-room"--she looked round it--"or--or your kitchen?" The last words fell rather timidly, lest she might have hurt his feelings. Mason jumped up. "Why, yon's the parlour," he said. "I should ha' taken you there fust thing. Will you coom? I'll soon make a fire."