For all save Miriam. I know not how my dear love had won the heart of this Slaithwaite Caliban, but certain it is he worshipped the ground she trod on. She could say him in his wildest moods with a word, nay, with a look. Yet was not his love, like mine, that of a man for a maid, but rather that of a dog for its master. It was never questioned that Daft Billy would cheerfully give his life for Miriam, if need were, and as I grew to know this my old feelings for the man melted away and I came to have a curious sort of liking for him. How he regarded me I do not know to this day--with a sort of tolerance, belike, when he came to know how matters stood between Miriam and myself. "Why, Billy, what brings you here at this time of night?" I exclaimed, fears of evil quick besetting me. "Nothing wrong at Burnplatts?" "Tha'rt wanted--Burnplatts; owd Mother Sykes--'oo's badly." "But what good can I do her? I'm no doctor." "Dunnot know. Women's whimsy, belike. Miriam sent me, an' tha's got to go if aw hug thee theer." "Oh, if Miriam sent for me I'm with you, Billy. Jim'll come, too." "There were nowt said about that felly. But th' road's free fro' here to th' Burnplatts. Aw doubt he'll noan ha' to see Mother Sykes." And with that Billy turned his back on us, and set off in a sort of ambling trot in the direction of Burnplatts, Jim and I following at his heels, nor to all the questions that I bawled at Billy's back could I get a word in answer. I cudgelled my brain in vain surmises as to the reasons for this sudden summons, and I fear was but an unappreciative listener to the monologue by which Jim who had no gift for silence, sought to beguile the tedium of the tramp across the snow-shrouded moors. "Dal it all, Abe," he said, "that's abaat th' fiftieth time tha's axed me what owd Mother Sykes can want wi' thee. Tha'll know sooin enough. It'll be nowt to thi advantage or aw'st be capped. If aw'm ony judge th' owd witch has no use for nob'dy except for what 'oo can mak' aat on 'em. Aw dunnut know what sort o' a mother your Miriam had, but her gran'mother's a beauty, an' don't yo' forget it. If Miriam's mother were owt like Miriam hersen 'oo mun ha' bred back a gooidish bit. It's weel known a rose 'll grow on a muck midden, but aw'n ne'er known a rose grow aat o' a thistle seed, an' there's a seet more thistle nor rose abaat owd Mother Sykes." "But what in the name of goodness does she want with me at dead of night."