"I'll think upon it, Abel, and a way may be opened unto us"--and that was all I could get out of him that night. It seemed to me that the good man had resolved upon a policy of what I have heard called "masterly inactivity"; and I'd great trust in my father's judgment. And perhaps at the back of my head lurked insidious the thought, why should I be in such a hurry to be shut of four hundred pounds? I tried to banish this unworthy prompting of the devil, but there I confess it was, and I'll not set up to be better than my neighbours. It was a glorious night--the moor was just bathed in a moonlight you could almost see to read by. Ruth and Jim had disappeared into the mistal, some hay wanted cutting, and chop grinding, so Jim had said. I put my head through the shippon door as I passed and there were Jim and Ruth sat on a heap of pulled hay, the cow was bedded down for the night and placidly chewing her cud--but Ruth and Jim seemed to have found a deal to say to each other, and I was in no ways minded to disturb them and take Jim away, for the simple reason that I was bent on an errand on which it is proverbial that two are company and three are none. I set my face towards Ainley Place and Burnplatts, pretending to myself that 'twas but Christian charity to enquire as to the progress of Ephraim o' Burnplatt's game foot, but knowing full well in my heart of hearts, which beat tumultuous at the bare thought, that my eyes ached for another sight of the maiden Miriam; but how to compass my design I must perforce leave to the chapter of accidents. Some hundred yards or so above the cluster of a score or more of the straw-thatched cots or hovels of mud and rubble that constituted the notorious hamlet, I came across a surly looking customer, clad in fustian and wearing a moleskin cap, seated on a low wall with a cur as unprepossessing as himself perched by his side. The beast bristled and shewed his teeth viciously, but the man quieted it with a word. "Yo're out late, mester, an' summat out o' yo'r latitude, aw'm thinkin'. Strangers are noan so welcome at Burnplatts this time o' neet. But happen yo're a buyer? Dun yo' want a hoss or a moke belike? Aw can deal wi yo' for th' finest, clivverest donkey as ivver went a buntin'--an' cheap, too." I said I was in no present need of either horse or donkey. "It's been warm to-day," he volunteered. "Pleasantly so." "Did yo' come bi 'Th' Sun.'" I acknowledged that I had passed the doors of that hospitable inn. "Rare ale at 'Th' Sun.'" I agreed. "Aw could sup a quart now, by gow I could." I fumbled in my breeches pocket and pulled forth a silver coin. The rogue's eyes glistened. "I don't want a horse. I want to know in which of these houses I shall find Ephraim Sykes." "Yo'r noan after him, are yo'?" "After him?" "Aye, a cop." I laughed. "No, a friend. Ephraim and I have been friends since we were lads together. I know he's had an accident to his foot, and I want to see how he's going on."