"This was your mother's, Ruth," he said very solemnly, "my dear saint in heaven's. She used to keep her hus-wife, and her needles, and pins, and threads, and hooks, and eyes, and buttons, and beads, and button-hook, and I know not what else in it at one time. Then she took to storing little coins in it, wrapped singly in bits of paper, the rare savings from the egg and butter money. Then when your great aunt Rachel died without a will your mother fell to a small share of her money. Over sixty pounds it was, and your mother could never bear the thought of setting the money out to usury. She kept it in this same box, and since the Lord in His wisdom took her home I've added to it mite by mite as I could spare it. It was to be for Ruth here, her mother ever said, when she should wed. And if she's to be a sort of partner in Mitchell Mill, why it will be a comfort to me to be rid of the money, and may God grant it increase." In vain Ruth declared she wouldn't touch a penny of it, in vain she scolded my father for pinching himself unbeknown to her to provide for a strong, lusty, young woman, able to look after herself and him, too--my father was adamant; and Enoch Hoyle put an end to the fruitless discussion by rising from table, carefully dusting the crumbs from his coat and breeches, and moving towards the study: "While yo'n bin fratchin'," he said, "or as yo' may say, argey-bargeying, aw'n bin thinkin', an' though Enoch Hoyle's noan a scholard an' farlearned, he's noan 'bout wit wheer cloth comes in. Aw'n heerd a whiff abaat this Mitchell Mill job, though aw'll grant yo'n bin unco' canny abaat it an' kep' mum an' close, which happen it's as weel." Mary would have gone into the kitchen to help in the siding-up; but my father insisted that she too should be of our counsel. "Now, Brother Hoyle," hinted my father, when the churchwardens were lit. "Axin' yo'r pardon, Mr. Holmes," said Enoch, "this is a company day, an' we'll ha' company manners. Aw'm noan th' buck aw used to be afore aw were soundly converted an' dipped, but aw'n noan forgetten behaviour. Aw'll mak' way for Mistress Haigh here, by yo'r leave, though aw mun say that i' things spiritooal--which this isn't--aw howd firmly wi' Saint Paul--see Corinthians one, fourteen, thirty-four an' five, if aw remember reetly--when he says, under th' inspiration o' th' Holy Ghost, bein' as it were th' amanooensis o' th' Spirit: 'Let your women keep silence in the churches; for it is not permitted unto them to speak; but they are commanded to be under obedience, as also saith the law. And if they will learn anything, let them ask their husbands at home; for it is a shame for women to speak in the church." "Yo' bottle 'em up i' th' church," whispered that irrepressible Jim, "an' th' stuff comes aat wi' a bang an' splathers all ovver th' floor when yo' poo' th' cork aat at whom." Then aloud, encouragingly, "Tell 'em what yo'n thowt on an' towd me afore we come."