“Come, I’ll help ye with the tray,” said Luke. “There, little ’uns, ye can take hands round and start ‘The Mulberry Bush.’ ’Twill keep ’em quiet. I can’t but feel sorry for ye, Maimie,” he continued, as he took hold of the tray. “’Tisn’t what none of us ’ud like, I s’pose,” and he jerked his head towards the closed door of the parlour. “Ye think your mother ’ull have him then?” said Maimie, with a sinking heart. “I can’t make out one way nor t’other. She’s got no call to be thinkin’ o’ wedlock, mother hasn’t. Feyther have left her every stick on the place. ’Tis a nice place, as ye know, Maimie, and she’s reet well off. I couldn’t help but ha’ words wi’ her last night, and she answered me back awful sharp. ‘’Tis time there was a change, Mester Luke,’ says she. ‘Thou’rt gettin’ above thyself, lad,’ she says.” “An’ what do the younger ones say to it?” said Maimie, pausing in the act of setting a pile of plates on the tray which he held. “Eh, they don’t say much. Mother can do what she likes wi’ they. They look a bit glum, but that’s all.” “’Tisn’t much use lookin’ glum, I reckon,” sighed the girl. “Feyther’s that set on the notion he won’t hear naught agen it.” “I dessay,” said Luke; “’tis a very good match for him?” “Not a bit better nor ’tis for your mother,” cried Maimie, tossing her head. “Why, our place is twice as big as this,” returned the youth; “and mother have money put by—a dale of brass she have. I don’t fancy your feyther could match it.” They were slowly proceeding towards the buttery by this time, each holding on to an end of the tray; through the open doorway the children could be seen dancing round and round, while they vociferated shrilly the time-honoured refrain “Ring-a-ring-a-roses!” “I don’t want him to match your mother’s brass, nor yet your mother,” said Maimie. “I wish she and the lot o’ you had kep’ away—that I do.” “Well, if that’s all ye can find to say to me, I’d best take myself off,” cried Luke angrily, and he suddenly let go of his end of the tray. There was a slide, a clatter, a crash; the piled up crockery, too heavy for Maimie’s arms alone, had slipped to the end of the tilted tray and fallen on the tiled buttery floor. Maimie glanced at the heap of destruction for one moment, and then burst into tears. “I didn’t go for to do it,” shouted Luke, overwhelmed with horror and remorse. “I thought ye’d firm howd on tray, Maimie.” “Eh dear, eh dear,” sobbed Maimie, the tears pouring through her outspread fingers, her bosom heaving convulsively. “Whatever mun I do? Feyther’ll be mad. And I’ll be that shamed before your mother and all.” Luke struck at his forehead vengefully. “I’m a regular fool,” he cried. “I’m a downright wastral and good-for-naught, that’s what I am. I can’t forgive myself for being so rough. Dunnot take agen me, Maimie, dunnot! I’m right down sorry—awful sorry, I am.” “I—don’t—belive—you are,” sobbed Maimie.