"Because it wasn't his place," answered Jenny, indignantly. "It made his hands all rough, and he's that like a gentleman he couldn't stand it." "Tom Fenton would have done it, I shouldn't wonder." "As if it would have mattered to Tom Fenton, with his great red hands! They couldn't be no rougher than they are, if he chopped wood while Christmas. Besides, it's his trade--wood-chopping is. Mr Featherstone's some'at better nor a carpenter." "They're honest hands, if they are red, Jenny." "And he's a cast in his eyes." "Scarcely. Anyhow, he's none in his heart." "And his nose turns up!" "Not as much as thine, Jenny." "Mine!" cried Jenny, in angry amazement, "Grandmother, what will you say next? My nose is as straight as--as the church tower." "Maybe it is, in general, my lass. But just now thou art turning it up at poor Tom." "`Poor Tom,' indeed!" said Jenny, in a disgusted tone. "He'd best not come after me, or I'll `poor Tom' him. I want none of him, I can tell you." "Well, Jenny, don't lose thy temper over Tom, or Robin either. Thou'rt like the most of maids--they'll never heed the experience of old folks. If thou wilt not be `ruled by the rudder, thou must be ruled by the rock.' `All is not gold that glitters,' and I'm afeard thou shalt find it so, poor soul! But I can't put wisdom into thee; I can only pray the Lord to give it thee. Be thy bags packed up?" "Ay," said Jenny, rather sulkily. "And all ready to set forth?" "There's just a few little things to see to yet." "Best go and see to them, then." Mrs Lavender knitted quietly on, and Jenny shut the door with a little more of a slam than it quite needed, and ran up to her own room, where she slept with her elder sister. "Jenny, thy bags are not locked," said her sister, as she came in. "Oh, let be, Kate, do! Grandmother's been at me with a whole heap of her old saws, till I'm worn out. I wish nobody had ever spoke one of 'em." "What's the matter?" "Oh, she's at me about Robin Featherstone: wants me to give up keeping company with him, and all that. Tom Fenton's her pattern man, and a pretty pattern he is. I wouldn't look at him if there wasn't another man in Staffordshire. Robin's a gentleman, and Tom's a clown." "I don't see how you are to give up Robin, when you are going into the very house where he lives." "Of course not. 'Tis all rubbish! I wish old women would hold their tongues. I'm not going to Bentley Hall to sit mewed up in my mistress' chamber, turning up the whites of my eyes, and singing Psalms through my nose. I mean to lead a jolly life there, I can tell you, for all Grandmother. It really is too bad of old folks, that can't knock about and enjoy their lives, to pen up young maids like so many sheep. I shall never be young but once, and I want some pleasure in my life."