“Stalled of each other, are you?” It was the father who spoke and there was humour in his voice and in the eyes that scrutinised the other’s face. “Well, bad news’ll keep. Get you washed and we’ll have our tea; and then if you think you’ve got to make all our coffins ’cause Baldwin’s sacked you I’ll help you to take t’ measures.” Jagger’s face clouded more heavily and Hannah stole a glance at it as her brother opened the scullery door; but he avoided her gaze; and she wheeled round and looked into her father’s eyes with a smile on her lips that was both question and comment. Maniwel had picked up his paper again and was apparently engaged with its contents but the smile reached his consciousness and he glanced up and met his daughter’s eyes. “You two ought to have changed places,” he said with grim pleasantry, “Jagger’d have made a good lass.” “And me a fine lad!” she commented. “It can’t be helped; we’re as we are.” She turned the kidneys on to a hot dish and the good smell filled the room. “I could almost wish it was Baldwin I had on t’ bars,” she remarked and her father laughed. “According to t’ Book, lass, t’ best way would be to heap t’ fire on his head and try to melt his heart. Your grannie turns her nose up. You think they’re getting t’ grid-iron ready for him in t’ hot place, eh mother? Well, maybe they are; but that’s devil’s work, anyway.” He tossed the newspaper into the window bottom as he spoke and drew his chair up to the table. The sleeve of his right arm was pinned to his coat, but if the defect were overlooked, he was a fine figure of a man—tall, erect, broad-shouldered and well-proportioned. His hair and beard were thick and only faintly streaked with grey, and the firm lips and deep chin and straight nose, together with the placidly-playful brown eyes, indexed a character that was at the same time virile and sympathetic. In some respects the son was like him; but the mouth was sulkier, the chin weaker, and the eyes lacked humour—you had to turn to the daughter to find the father’s features reproduced more successfully, though not his frame. “It’ll blow over, softhead,” said Hannah, with sisterly candour as Jagger made slow headway, staring moodily at his plate instead of eating. “Get on with your tea before it goes cold. I wouldn’t miss a good meal for t’ best man living; much less for one o’ t’ worst.” “It isn’t going to blow over,” the young man burst out hotly. “If it does there’ll be another storm before t’ week’s out and we shall have it all to go through again. I’ve got just about to t’ far end, father, and I may as well chuck it now as next week or next month.” Maniwel raised his eyes for a moment and regarded his son steadily, but all he said was: “Get on with your tea as Hannah tells you. If you’ve got to fight trouble never do it on an empty belly. Them kidneys are wasted on you.”