But I'd soon other things to think about than theological doctrines and hair-splittings. By the month of February--a dull, drizzly, raw month it was I well remember, with fits of heavy snow in and among, or maybe I was over nesh from being cooped up so long and cowering over the fire "counting th' eoiks as Jim put it--and I was able to leave my sick-room and move about the house and into the open, but still in a feeble sort of way. And one night, Ruth and Miriam being gone together down into Slaithwaite shopping, my father bid me sit down as he had much to say to me that had been long on his mind, but which he had stored up till such time as I should be strong enough for serious thought and talk. "So you and the maid Miriam have plighted troth," he began, when his churchwarden was drawing comfortably. "By your leave, father, yes," I made answer in a shamefaced way, for young men, I know not why, would rather discuss their love affairs with anyone in the world than their own fathers--it's different, I suppose, with their mothers, but, you see, I hadn't one. "Humph," said my sire, somewhat shortly, "it was French leave, I take it." I hung my head. "Well, well, all's well that ends well, and I'll say you've had more good luck than you deserve. Miriam's a bonnie lass, and, what's of infinitely more importance, a clever one and a good one. If anything could spoil a girl I should say such a bringing up as she must have had at Burnplatts would have done it. But she hath been like unto Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, that passed through the fiery furnace, yet 'upon their bodies the fire had no power, nor was an hair of their head singed, neither were their coats changed, nor the smell of fire had passed on them.' Truly with her, as with the three captives in Babylon, the Son of God must have walked whilst she dwelt in the tents of Shem. Aye, verily a goodly maiden and a fair. But thou'll not have forgotten, Abel, my son, that she is also a maiden well dowered, though, I understand, she does not know it. Has it occurred to thee to think, lad, that it's scarcely fair to her to hold her to a promise she made when she may have been in despair and ready to snatch at any chance of escape from that wretched and, I fear me, God-accursed Burnplatts?" "Why, no, father, I've never given much thought to the money; but as to holding Miriam or any other lass if she wanted to be free--why, you know, it isn't in me to do it. We can soon put it to the touch. Tell her of her fortune."