“Step a bit up the road, John, do,” remarked Jinny in a loud aside; as soon as this injunction had been obeyed, she turned to the Rector. “I doubt my new lodger’s a black ’un—leastways not altogether black. He keeps all my rules nobbut this ’un. He’ve dropped beer an’ bad words, an’ he says his prayers an’ grace an’ all, an’ he comes a-whoam by ten—but he says ’tis his rule not to go to church—I don’t know how to mak’ ’un do it, that’s the worst on’t. I’ve mended all his clothes this week so I can’t get even wi’ un wi’ leavin’ ’em in holes. He didn’t have no breakfast this mornin’ but I can’t go on cuttin’ off his victuals for long. The mon works ’ard, an’ wants ’em.” The Rector laughed. “Have you ever tried persuasion?” he said. “Sometimes when threats fail coaxing prevails. He can’t be a bad fellow if he does all you say.” “Well, I wouldn’t say he was bad,” she agreed meditatively. “I never thought o’ tryin’ persuasion,” she added. “My way is to serve ’em out if they don’t do what I tell ’em.” The Rector laughed again: “‘A spoonful of honey catches more flies than a pint of vinegar’,” he remarked; “have you ever heard that saying?” Jinny had not, but conceded that it met be true enough; she followed John with a pensive look. Kershaw did not return for dinner, nor yet for tea; he did not, in fact, put in an appearance until late in the evening, when, if truth be told, he was considerably the worse for drink. He went straight upstairs to bed without pausing a moment in the kitchen. Next morning, when he came in for his breakfast, this being his week for early duty at the station, he expected a severe lecture, but Jinny set his food before him with a pleasant smile. “Oh,” growled Luke sarcastically, “yo’ll gie me summat to eat to-day, will yo’? Well, I can do wi’ a bit at after yesterday. Bread and cheese were my dinner yesterday. I had to walk nigh upon six mile afore I could get it.” “Yo’r dinner was waitin’ for yo’ here,” responded Jinny, with mild dignity. “’Twas keepin’ hot for yo’ all the afternoon.” “I thought haply yo’ was goin’ to punish me by makin’ me clem all day. Yo’ was some mad wi’ me, wasn’t yo?” “Nay, nay,” replied Jinny, still mildly, “not mad. I were nobbut sorry.” All that week she redoubled her attentions to Luke, and when Saturday night came he was astonished and abashed when she put a little parcel into his hands. It contained a tie of the brightest hues and the richest texture obtainable for a shilling. “If yo’ll weer that to-morrow, Luke,” she said graciously, “I’ll feel proper proud steppin’ along aside of yo’.” Luke gazed hesitatingly, first at the tie, then at Jinny’s beaming face; then folding up the little packet he tendered it back to her. “I couldn’t tak’ it on false pertences,” he faltered. “I’m no church-goer.”