“Nay,” responded Jinny graciously, as she scraped the burnt corner off the toast; “I’m for sendin’ a man off to his wark wi’ some heart in him—wi’out it’s too early for him to have a appetite. Poor John ’ull have to come back for his breakfast. I couldn’t expect the lad to be hungry at five o’clock i’ the mornin’, though I made him a nice cup o’ tea before he went, an’ I’ll do the same by yo’ next week when ’tis yo’r turn to be the early bird.” “Well, yo’re something like a stirrin’ body—I’ll say that!” cried Luke approvingly; and he hurried out to the well, filled his bucket, and performed his ablutions, all with the least possible loss of time, for really the sights and smells in that comfortable kitchen made him feel most uncommonly hungry. Jinny had finished toasting the second round by the time he appeared, and was covering the table with a coarse, clean, white cloth. “Now then,” cried Luke in high good humour, “if the meal’s ready the mon is.” He set a chair in Jinny’s place, and fetched another for himself, and was about to sit down, when Jinny, who had methodically arranged plates and cups upon the table, glanced at him reprovingly. “Prayers first,” she remarked. “Well, I’m ready—fire away,” grunted Luke, bending his head and folding his hands in the approved fashion. “Grace is one thing,” observed Jinny, “an’ prayers another. Yo’ll go down on your knees, Luke Kershaw, along o’ me an’ say a word to yo’r Maker afore yo’ breaks bread i’ this house.” “I’m d—d if I do!” shouted Luke, thumping the table. “I’m about tired o’ bein’ missus’d an’ so I tell yo’. Pray away as much as yo’ like, Miss Whiteside—I’ll step outside an’ yo’ can call me when yo’re ready.” Jinny shot a glance at him, and then, with the precision which characterised all her actions, removed one plate, one cup and saucer, and one knife and one fork from the table. “Them as hasn’t the decency to thank the Giver, dunnot want the gifts,” she observed, and flopped down on her knees by the settle in the corner. “What mak’ o’ talk’s that?” enquired Luke somewhat shamefacedly. “Yo’ know well enough,” responded she. “This here’s a Christian house, I say, an’ I’ll not set at table wi’ nobry as dunnot begin the day as a Christian should.” Luke made a step towards the door, and then glanced back at the hearth. The two rounds of toast standing at right angles to each other were as brown as brown could be; the bacon was done to perfection. “A mon must eat,” he said, speaking more to himself than to her. “A chap can’t do his work wi’out he’s fed, but I’ll look out for another lodgin’ afore the day goes by.” Jinny, with her head buried in her hands, was too much absorbed to heed him. Luke, after another moment’s hesitation, came shambling across the kitchen, and popped himself down beside her. “Dunno be too long, that’s all,” he observed in a wrathful whisper.