"That's his cunning. The Honourable Childe's a very clever man, and I respect him for it. He knows me and I know him. The field will be as clean as a new pin before Christmas, I shouldn't wonder." "You won't get your regular box of cigars from the man if it ain't, I expect." "Oh yes, I shall. He's large-minded. He knows his luck. I like him very well, for he sees the amusing side of things." "He weren't much amused last week." Her father showed a trace of annoyance. "What a damper you are, Soosie-Toosie! Was ever the like? You always take the dark view and be grim as a ghost under the ups and downs of life. If you'd only copy me there. But 'tis your poor mother in you. A luckier woman never walked you might say; yet she was never hopeful--always on the look out for the rainy day that never came." "I'm hopeful enough to-day anyhow. I think the new men be the sort to suit you." "Nobody's easier to suit than me," he answered. "Let a labourer but do his duty, or even get in sight of his duty, and I'm his friend." Susan reminded her father that a kinsman was coming in the evening. "You know Johnny promised to look in on his way home from Ashburton and take supper along with us." "So he did. The man's affairs hang fire by the look of it. When's he going to be married I wonder?" "Might ask him," answered Susan. "Not that he knows I reckon. It's up to her." When night came John Bamsey duly arrived and shared the last meal of the day. His father and Mr. Stockman were cousins, or declared themselves to be so, and John always called Joseph "Cousin Joe." He was one of the water-bailiffs on the river--a position he had held for six months. But he had already given a good account of himself, and his peculiarities of character were such that they made him a promising keeper. He was keen and resolute, with the merciless qualities of youth that knows itself in the right. He was also swift of foot and strong. A poacher, once seen, never escaped him. John entertained a cheerful conceit of himself, and his career was unsullied. He echoed his mother's temperament and was religious-minded, but he had a light heart. He had fallen in love with a girl two years older than himself, and she had accepted him. And now, at twenty-two, John's only trouble was that Dinah Waycott would not name the day. He was a fair, tall man, with a solid, broad face, small grey eyes and an expression that did not change. He wore an old-fashioned pair of small whiskers and a tawny moustache in which he took some pride. He greeted the newcomers in friendship and talked about his work on the river. He was frank and hearty, a great chatterbox without much self-consciousness. "And when's the wedding going to be?" asked Mr. Stockman. "Don't know; but it's about time I did; and I mean to know inside this month. Dinah must make up her mind, Cousin Joe. Wouldn't you say that was fair?"