Sunday afternoons were the great trouble of Grizzel's life. Roper had holiday then, and came: and Lett, whose time was his own, though of course he could not afford to waste it on a week-day, also came. One would stand at the stile in one field, the other at a stile in another field: and Grizzel, arrayed in one of the light print gowns she favoured, the many-coloured shawl, and the dangerous blue-ribboned bonnet, did not dare to go out to either, lest the other should pounce upon his rival, and a fight ensue. It was getting quite exciting in the household to watch the progress of events. Spring passed, the summer came round; and between the two, Grizzel had her hands full. The other servants could not imagine what the men saw in her. "It is those blue ribbons she's so fond of!" said Mrs. Todhetley to us two, with a sigh. "I doubted them from the first." "I should say it is the blue eyes," dissented Tod. "And I the white teeth and laughing face. _Nobody_ can help liking her." "You shut up, Johnny. If I were Roper----" "Shut up yourself, Joseph: both of you shut up: you know nothing about it," interrupted the Squire, who had seemed to be asleep in his chair. "It comes of woman's coquetry and man's folly. As to these two fellows, if Grizzel can't make up her mind, I'll warn them both to keep off my grounds at their peril." One evening during the Midsummer holidays, in turning out of the oak-walk to cross the fold-yard, I came upon Grizzel leaning on the gate. She had a bunch of sweet peas in her hand, and tears in her eyes. George Roper, who must have been talking to her, passed me quickly, touching his hat. "Good evening, sir." "Good evening, Roper." He walked away with his firm, quick stride: a well-made, handsome, trustworthy fellow. His brown velveteen coat (an old one of his master's) was shabby, but he looked well in it; and his gaitered legs were straight and strong. That he had been the donor of the sweet peas, a rustic lover's favourite offering, was evident. Grizzel attempted to hide them in her gown when she saw me, but was not quick enough, so she was fain to hold them openly in her hand, and make believe to be busy with her milk-pail. "It's a drop of skim milk I've got over; I was going to take it to the pigs," said she. "What are you crying about?" "Me crying!" returned Grizzel. "It's the sun a shinin' in my eyes, sir." Was it! "Look here, Grizzel, why don't you put an end to this state of bother? You won't be able to milk the cows next." "'Tain't any in'ard bother o' that sort as 'll keep me from doing my proper work," returned she, with a flick to the handle of the pail. "At any rate, you can't marry two men: you would be taken up by old Jones the constable, you know, and tried for bigamy. And I'm sure you must keep _them_ in ferment. George Roper's gone off with a queer look on his face. Take him, or dismiss him." "I'd take him to-morrow, but for one thing," avowed the girl in a half whisper.