Hirst followed him out when at last he got to saddle. “First visits mean second ones, eh?” he said. “Step in any time ye’re passing Good Intent, and good night to ye, Mr. Gaunt.” He listened to the hoof beats as they grew fainter up the road; then he went indoors with a sigh, and sat him down in the hooded chair, and beckoned Cilla to his knee. “We’re most of us as big fools as we look, and some of us bigger,” he said. “Ye’re wondering why I asked Gaunt to the farm. Well, ’twas to pay a debt, if you must have the truth. I’ve reckoned it up all ways, Cilla, and I’ve fought agen it, but I like to be just--when I can. I’ve been hard on the lad, and he went where I wouldn’t have gone if I’d been paid i’ gold for ’t.” His face broke into broad wrinkles, full of charity and humour. “Ye see, lile Cilla, a father’s never i’ the wrong to his lass--’twouldn’t do to own up to ’t--but when I see Gaunt framing like a farmer, and settling down to th’ only good work God ever put into man’s hands--well, I war not exactly i’ the wrong, ye understand, but happen I misjudged him, like.” It was pleasant to Cilla, this sitting at her father’s knee and listening while the big, child’s heart of the man found voice. She understood the battle with his pride, the surrender to a finer impulse. “Not that he’s fit for ye--” “Father, ’tis early days to talk of that,” she broke in, with sudden fright. “Ay, and early days are best, if ye want to get your land ready for a good crop to follow. Mind ye, Cilla, I’ve an old dislike of the man.” “Or of his father?” asked Cilla shrewdly. “Well, both, maybe; but I’m talking of to-morrow, not o’ yesterday. I saw the look that passed between ye when Gaunt came in, and I’ve seen other glances o’ the kind. Now, sit down, lass. I’ve earned a fairly plain glimpse o’ life, after trying for five-and-fifty years to get a lile bit nearer to ’t. If ye wed Gaunt, I shall be lone and sorry, but I’ll make the best of a bad job.” “Father, cannot you understand that Peggy is scarce buried yet?” she murmured, afraid of herself and of all things. He met her glance frankly, for he had something in his mind, and meant to find speech for it. It was in times of stress that Hirst showed all the common sense and strength that underlay his boisterous good humour. “Buried is hidden, as they say, and that’s what I’m telling ye. It’s the lesson men have to learn as lads--and women after they’ve had a bairn or two.” Cilla sat looking into, the peat-fire. “Well, then, father?” she asked by and by. “What is it you want to say?” “Just this, my lass,” said Hirst, blurting it out like a school lad. “When I asked Gaunt to come in, it was because I owed him a debt, like, and wanted to pay it. When I asked him at the door to come a second time, ’twas for a different reason.” “Yes, father,” said Cilla, still looking at the peats.