Farmer Chave waited until the cow “Prim” had yielded her store, then he led the way to an empty cow-stall—dark, cool and scented by its inhabitants. Across the threshold fell a bar of light; without, a vast heap of rich ordure sent forth delicate sun-tinted vapour; close at hand the cows stood waiting each her turn, and one with greatly distended udder lowed to the milkmaid. “Look you here, Jan Aggett, you’m for marryin’, ban’t ’e? Didn’t you tell me when I took you on as a you was keepin’ company wi’ blacksmith’s purty darter?” “’Twas so, then.” “Well, I’m one as likes to see my hands married an’ settled an’ getting childer ’cordin’ to Bible command. What’s your wages this minute?” “You’m on a wrong tack, maister. Sarah Belworthy an’ me be out. Theer’s nought betwixt us more.” Mr. Chave affected great indignation at this statement. “’Struth! Be you that sort?” John reflected a moment before answering. He suspected his master must know the truth, but could not feel certain, for Mr. Chave’s manner suggested absolute ignorance. “Us changed our minds—that’s all.” “You say so! When a girl changes her mind theer’s generally another string to her bow. Either that, or she’s tired of waiting for the fust.” “It might be ’twas so,” said John, falling into the trap laid for him. “A maid like her can’t be expected in reason to bide till such as me can make a home for her. I doan’t blame her.” “Well, if that’s the trouble, you can go right along to her this night an’ tell her theer’s no cause to keep single after Eastertide. Yeo and his wife do leave my cottage in Longley Bottom come then, an’ instead of raisin’ your wages as I meant to do bimebye, I’ll give ’e the cot rent free. A tidy li’l place tu, I warn ’e, wi’ best part of an acre o’ ground, an’ only half a mile from the village. Now be off with ’e an’ tell the girl.” Aggett gasped and his eyes dimmed a moment before the splendid vision of what might have been. It took him long to find words and breath to utter them. Then he endeavoured to explain. “You’m a kind maister, God knows, an’ I’d thank ’e year in an’ year out wi’ the sweat o’ my body for such gudeness. But the thing can’t be, worse luck. Best I tell ’e straight. ’Tis like this: Sally have met another chap—a chap built o’ softer mud than what I be. An’ he’m more to her than me, an’—” “God A’mighty! An’ you stand theer whining wi’ no more spirit than a auld woman what’s lost her shoe-string! A chap hath kindiddled the maid from ’e? Another man hath stole her? Is that what you mean?” John grew fiery red, breathed hard and rubbed his chin with a huge fist. “Ban’t the man I cares a curse for. ’Tis the girl.”