"Aye, aye, th' parson's son to be sewer. You're tokened to him, they seyn. Weel, aw wish you joy, aw'm sewer." "Do you really, Ephraim?" "Aye, aye, what for no? It's no use cryin' for the moon. More bi token aw'n ta'en up missen wi' a likely wench i' Stalybridge. Her feyther keeps th' "White House"--not at ya'll know it. But aw cannot howd this tit in. Climb in, Miriam, an' aw'll tell thee all about it as we jog along. Some day aw sud like to meet Abe an' aw should noan be sorry to tak' him bi th' hand an' ma' friends again." Now this had been good hearing for Miriam, her own heart so full of happiness and goodwill towards all the world that she wanted nothing better than to see the feud between Ephraim and myself, of which she had been the innocent cause, so happily ended. She clambered into the gig and seated herself by Ephraim's side. He shook the reins, and the horse stepped out bravely. He told her that he no longer lived at the "Moorcock," and had abandoned all idea of turning gamekeeper. He had found his true vocation to be that of a horse dealer, and the land lord of the "White House" had not only a pretty daughter, who had been taken with Ephraim's good looks--and indeed he was a handsome fellow--but also money to spare to set up a son-in-law in a profitable line of business. Now, he told Miriam, he was on his way to Bill's o' Jacks to look at a young colt the Bradburys had for sale. So absorbed was Miriam in this recital, and so joyed was she at the thought that Ephraim seemed in a fair way to mend his mode of life and to settle down into a law-abiding citizen and pursue a reputable calling--for when your own heart is full and overflowing with glad content it adds even to that full measure to know that others, too, are happy--that Miriam did not notice at first that the trap had passed the turn she should have taken towards Saddleworth and was well on its way up the Holmfirth Road. She asked Ephraim to pull up and allow her to alight. "Nowt o' th' sort. Yo're all right," he said. "Yo'll have nowt to do but turn off bi Bill's o' Jack's, climb up to Pots an' Pans, an' ta' th' sheep-walk down to th' "Church." Yo'n plenty of time. Besides, aw don't ta' it kindly o' yo' to be in such a hurry to be shuton me. Yo'n fun some fine new relations to be sewer, but yo' needn't be i' sich a hurry to turn yo'r back o' them 'at fot yo' up when yo'd nob'dy else to turn to. Th' Burnplatters weren't fine weather friends to yo', Miriam. Aw were at thi beck an' call long afore yo' clapped em on th' parson's son, an' yo'n nowt to do but lift yo'r little finger an' aw'll be at thi beck an' call again, an' th' Staley lass may go hang." "Now you're spoiling it all, Ephraim. I'll get out here, thanking you for the lift, and oh, so pleased to have heard your good news. If you'll ask me, I'll dance at your wedding."