This from Mary, who had finished her pots, and came from the sink, drying her hands on her apron. "Why, the story's simple enough and soon told, Mary," I said. "And if you knew poor old Mr Turner as I know him I'm sure you'd feel for the poor man. "Aye, but pity wi'out relief's like mustard wi'out beef," quoth Mary, who was great on proverbs. "An' aw dunnot see what aw could do for th' man--more by token 'at he welly fleyed me to death th' only time aw ivver clapped mi e'en on 'im, an' that were i' owd Betty's at th' Weigh Key, when he'd come to buy a penn'orth o' snuff. He nobbut wanted a winding-sheet to mak' him look like a corpse. He gay' me a turn, aw know. It's kitchen physic he's wanting, if aw'm to judge. But how did ta' come to leet on him, Abel?" "Why, you know, Mary, that when I walk home to Pole Moor I must needs cross over by Stanedge, and one day I'd turned off just below the "Floating Light" to take a sheep-walk that makes a short cut down to Marsden It came on to rain helter-skelter when I was in the very centre of the Moor, and n'er a tree nor a wall to crouch under for shelter. But a hundred yards or so from the path I saw an old ramshackle sort of building a one decker, that I thought might be a keeper's hut. I made for it across the heather as fast as my two legs could carry me, for it was lightning and thundering to make matters worse. I knocked at the door, but there was no answer so I just lifted the sneck and walked in. There was no one in the house. I called and better called but I could make no one hear. There wasn't even a cat, about the place and such a place. Poverty-stricken isn't the word for it. It was clean enough, however. But just fancy, Mary. One chair, one table, a rack with one or two plates and mugs, and a truckle-bed in a corner, a smouldering fire, and a box of dried turf. But I cowered over the fire to dry me, and then I sat down by the table. There was a book on it. I opened it idly. You might have knocked me down with a feather, as you say. If it wasn't a Greek Testament! I knew enough of my Alpha and Omega to make that out anyway, and just to pass the time I fell to trying how much of the first Gospel I could construe. I became absorbed in my task and did not hear the opening of the outer door, and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a voice: 'You make yourself at home, young sir.' I rose in confusion and made what apology I could, and was for going. Mr. Turner, however, for it was he, bade me stay till the storm abated. He himself was dripping wet, but seemed to make no account of it. He stood by the fire, Which I had mended, and the rain siped off him--." "On to th' clean fender, of course; just like a man," interrupted Mary. "There wasn't a fender. Just th' ash-hole." "Aw nivver did," said Mary. "But go on." "He was very silent, and I had time to observe him as he gazed into the fire, seemingly oblivious of my presence." "Oblivious? What's that?" asked Jim.