“Steady, lad!” the father interposed as Hannah threw back her head and seemed about to speak. “You’re galloping a bit over fast, same as a colt ’at isn’t used to t’ shafts. You can leave us three out o’ your calculations and think about yourself. Your grannie and me are same as t’ ling—rooted i’ moorland soil—and we should make naught out in t’ backyard of a town; and Hannah isn’t t’ sort to resin another woman’s fiddle. Dost think Nancy’ll go wi’ you?” “I’m not saying she would,” he answered, without hesitation and with a look that spoke more confidently than his tongue; “but she’s going to have t’ chance. Letting her help to provide t’ home is a pill that bides a bit of swallowing; but you can’t have it all ways; and I’d pay her back when I get on to my feet——” “You’ve eaten dirt while you’ve got used to t’ taste,” Hannah broke in excitedly. “Would I, if I were a man, beg any woman to make me a home! I’d go single all my days first! I’ll lend you my petticoats, Jagger.” The hot blood rushed to the young man’s cheeks and he turned angry eyes on his sister; but the father checked the torrent of words that began to pour from his lips. “Sit you down, lad! Hannah’s as much at fault with _her_ false pride as you are with yours. If a man and woman love each other so as to forsake all others and live together till death parts ’em it’s a small matter which o’ t’ two buys t’ furniture. It isn’t what’s bought wi’ brass ’at makes a home, it’s what brass can’t buy. I aren’t sure but what Jagger’s right, only I doubt he’ll make a mullock of it when he names it to Nancy; and I wish I could be as sure as he seems to be ’at she’ll see it in t’ same light. I wouldn’t do t’ lass a wrong; but her father set brass first, and for aught I know she may do t’ same. Love is of God; but t’ love o’ money isn’t; and you have it in t’ Book ’at you cannot serve God and mammon. Now suppose by some odd chance she doesn’t fall in wi’ t’ idea—what then?” “Then we put t’ sign-board up, same as we talked about,” said Jagger stoutly. “You mean it?” “I mean it! If she doesn’t like it, I can’t help it. Go back to Baldwin, I won’t, and there’s an end on’t.” Maniwel gazed at his son long and steadily and Jagger’s face put on a look of stubbornness. “I mean it,” he repeated doggedly. “The day she says ‘No’ sees t’ new firm started.” “Good lad!” said Hannah. “If Nancy has any sense she’ll rather have a bull-dog on t’ rug than a pet poodle on her lap. But pull your chair up to t’ table for t’ porridge is cooling on your plates, and a spoiled breakfast oft means a spoiled day.” * * * * * The greater part of the tea-things had been cleared away when Jagger entered the cottage in the evening. All day he had been on the watch for Nancy, but it was late afternoon before he had found his opportunity. His face was white and his eyes were troubled, but his voice was quite firm when he spoke.