“Jagger!” he said, and the tone roused the young man from his dreams and caused him to turn an almost startled look on his father. “I’ve stopped up to have a word wi’ you when there’s nobody else by. A mother ’ud manage a job o’ this sort better than a man, but when the mother’s wanting a man must do his best. I was young myself once and I’ve stood where you’re standing. Your mother was all in all to me i’ them days, lad; and if I’d missed her t’ moor ’ud have become a wilderness. It’s a question she’d have asked you—do you feel i’ that way regarding Nancy?” “Aye, God knows I do,” replied Jagger with emphasis. “You want to be mortal sure on’t,” continued his father. “If you love t’ new business better than her—if you’d rather give her up than it—then you can afford to lose her.... Nay, you’d better hearken and let me talk; it’ll pay you better, if it isn’t for me to say so. Baldwin threw out a hint—he tried to pull it back but it was too late—’at yon young fellow ’at’s got your job is after her an’ all; but if you care for each other as you think you do there’s no ’casion to worry about that; there was more than me ’ud ha’ liked your mother.” “I’ll wring his neck for him yet,” muttered Jagger savagely. “Words, lad! Naught but words! It’s that I don’t like to hear i’ you. If she favours Inman she’ll wed him, and his neck’ll be safe enough, so we’ll let that pass. What I want you to be sure of is that she’s the right lass for you; and if you’re sure o’ that then I want you to go the right way to get her.” Maniwel’s eyes were shining with a tender light, and his face looked almost young again as the glow from the grate cast its reflection over it. He was leaning forward a little, searching his son’s face and trying to catch the eyes that were bent downward. “It’s a fact what grannie says—though I’ve no patience with their silly rhymes, ’at stand for more than t’ Bible wi’ some folks—’at most o’ t’ Clegg women have supped sorrow when they wed. It’s a job when lassies are run after for their brass and not for theirselves, and that’s what’s happened wi’ most o’ t’ Cleggs. When a man and a maid come together, lad, brass has to be thought on; but it’s a poor foundation for a happy home. ‘Love never faileth,’ we read i’ t’ Book,—it stands like t’ Cove; but brass fails oft enough, and so does fancy. Are you sure, lad? Are you sure?” “Yes,” he said hoarsely; “my love for Nancy’ll stand like t’ Cove; there’s naught’ll shake it.” The father gazed at him in silence, not yet satisfied, but wondering how far it was wise to go and bewailing his lack of woman’s ready intuition. He was not sure of Nancy—how should he be? But after all that was his son’s affair and one it was ill to meddle with. If they loved each other with all their hearts he would wish them Godspeed in spite of all the doggerel in the witch-wives’ collection.