He surrendered the bread-knife blinkingly to her, and Will released his arm, struck breathless by the change in Jinny. Not only were apron and shabby gown replaced by the Gentry masterpiece, not only was her hair combed and braided in a style he had never seen, but the face which reduced all these fripperies to insignificance seemed years younger and fresher. The little lines were gone from the forehead, the hard defiance from the eyes, and the wanness from the cheeks: the whole face was mantled with a soft light. How shrewd he had been to suggest this partnership, he thought with a pleasant glow, forgetting its origin in pity. For assuredly this softly radiant person made no call on that emotion. The old man was equally astonished. “Why, Jinny, ye’re as smart as a carrot!” he cried naïvely. “Bless ye.” He kissed her fondly. “Willie wants to goo into pardnership—Quarles and Flynt.” The young people looked at each other, both as carrots in hue. “Well, Willie, where’s your tongue? Tell her how we’ve settled it.” “He can tell me on Sunday,” said Jinny, not utterly unresentful of their masculine methods. “On Sunday?” the Gaffer gasped. “After chapel,” Jinny explained. “Oi won’t have no such talk a-Sundays. It’s got to be now. Goo ahead, buoy-oy!” “Oh, Gran’fer,” Jinny pleaded. “Can’t you go and light Will’s lamps?” “Ye want to upset it all behind my back,” he said with a cunning air. “No, I don’t.” “Ye can’t diddle Daniel Quarles. It’s a fust-rate proposition, and don’t ye dare say ‘Noa.’” “But, Gran’fer!” Jinny hung her head. “You might understand.” “Oi understand better nor you. Look at that coach now—a grand coach—Quarles and Flynt.” “Never mind the coach—light the lamps,” Jinny cried paradoxically. Daniel moved out reluctantly. “It’s a hansum proposition, Jinny,” he said. “Where’s your tinder-box, Willie?” “Here’s matches,” said Will. He looked uneasy. Her grandfather seemed to be irritating the girl—it boded ill for his proposition. “Don’t be afeared, Willie. She won’t fly at ye now. Easy, my beauties. Steady, Snowdrop!” IX “You don’t mind my clearing up,” said Jinny, pouncing upon Farmer Gale’s imperilled cake. “Not if you don’t fly at me,” Will quoted with a nervous facetiousness. Jinny smiled with equal nervousness: “Oh, I won’t fly at you—nor jump at you, neither.”