"Mrs. Lee is naturally against the Duchy," he said. "The Duchy we all know. But, on the other hand, nobody alive can blame your father for availing himself of its propensities." "He'll curse himself for a fool yet, however," said the old woman. "I shall not be friendly with you any more, Lovey Lee," answered Grace frankly. "You're greedier than the Duchy, and you don't tell the truth. You wouldn't be so unpleasant if your conscience didn't hurt you. Henceforth I shall think with my father that you took the amphora." "You may think what you please. It won't prove nothing but that you've got a Malherb habit of mind and be your faither's daughter." "Come, Peter!" cried Grace. "I'll hear no more." She trotted away, and, having dropped a coin behind him, Mr. Norcot followed. It was his sagacious custom never to lose any opportunity of making a friend. He had found possibilities of usefulness in the humblest road-mender; and this woman, with her evident strength and ferocity, attracted him. He perceived that she was one who would do anything within her power for payment. Lovey picked up the money with a loud blessing on the giver. Then she watched the retreating figures. "They be coming courting a'ready," she thought, "an' her only a half-growed giglet yet. Well, let the sky fall an' the sun burn blue, a crown be still a crown." Before the old woman had reached home, Grace and Peter Norcot passed her cabin, and the wool-stapler showed more interest before Lovey's grim abode than at the more striking object close at hand. Siward's Cross was dismissed with a nod, but Mrs. Lee's lair awakened a lively attention. "There she lives with only a wall of piled peat between her and her cows and donkey. She's got a grandson--a very handsome, courteous young fellow--and he dwells in that stable there. In her kitchen you would find stones for chairs." "And stones for bread by the look of it. A cheerful soul. I wonder where her hiding-place may be? Did you see her glittering eyes--like two diamonds set in yellow ivory--and the fingers all crooked like a hawk's claws. She's a miser, or I never met one. And yet 'God but little asks where little's given.' Perhaps we wrong her." "Father never wrongs anybody," answered Grace. "He storms, indeed, and will have his way; but good men always like him, and understand his noble qualities." "Most true--one in a thousand. I'm thankful beyond measure that he is pleased to think well of me; for he'd never bestow his friendship on an unworthy object." "One word for father; two for Peter Norcot." "It is so; I rise above false modesty. If a good man praises me, it is my best advertisement before the world." "You have a wonderful way with father."