She turned to go upstairs, and Betty crossing the threshold stood a moment irresolute. Her basket, full of purchases recently made at the shop a mile away, was heavy enough, and her feet were weary; but Jenny's tantalising red head gleamed like a beacon twenty yards away from her, and curiosity silenced the pleadings of fatigue. Hitching up her basket she proceeded in the wake of the young couple, who were walking slowly enough, the girl's bright head a little bent, the man slouching along by her side in apparent silence. All at once the observer saw Jenny's hand go to her pocket, and draw thence a handkerchief which she pressed to her eyes. "She be a-cryin'" commented Betty, not without a certain satisfaction. "They've a-had a bit of a miff, I d' 'low; well, if the young man have a-got the feelin's of a man he'd be like to object to this 'ere notion of hers--Nay, now, he do seem to be a-comfortin' of her. There! Well!" They had left the village behind, and Betty's solitary figure was probably unnoticed by the lovers. In any case it proved no hindrance to the very affectionate demonstrations which now took place. Presently Jenny straightened her hat, restored her handkerchief to her pocket, and walked on, "arm-in-crook" with her admirer. "They be a-goin' to Susan's, sure enough. Well, to be sure! Of all the hard-hearted brazen-faced--!" words failed her, and she quickened her pace as the couple disappeared round the angle of the lane. A few minutes' brisk walking brought the pair, with Betty at their heels, to a solitary cottage standing a little back from the lane in the shelter of a high furze-grown bank. As the young man tapped at the door Jenny turned and descried Betty's figure by the garden-gate. "Is it you, Mrs. Tuffin?" she inquired. "I can scarce see who 'tis wi' the sun shinin' in my eyes. Be you a-goin' in?" "It's me," responded Betty tartly, in reply to the first question, while she dismissed the second with an equally curt "I be." The door opened and the figure of a stout elderly woman stood outlined against the glow of firelight within. She peered out, shading her eyes from the level rays of the sinking sun, and starting back at sight of Jenny. "'Tis you, be it? Well, I didn't think you'd have the face to come, so soon." "I did just look in to say a word o' consolation, Miss Vacher," said the girl, drawing herself up. "I be very grieved myself about this melancholy noos. I've a-been cryin' terrible, I have, an' says I, 'Me an' poor Abel's dear aunt 'ull mingle our tears.'" "Mingle fiddlesticks!" said Susan. "What be that there young spark o' yours a-doin' here? Be he come to drop a tear too?" "He be come along to take care of I," said the girl demurely. "'Tis Mr. Sam Keynes. He didn't think it right for I to walk so far by myself. Did ye, Sam?" "Well, now ye can walk back wi' her," said Susan, addressing that gentleman before he had time to answer. "I don't want no tears a-mingled here. Who be that by the gate?"