'Theer's a blue cotton at Hinton's,' she said, hurriedly--'a light-blue cotton. They want sixpence farthin,--but Annie Wigson says yo could bate 'em a bit. But what's t' use?' she added, with a sudden savage darkening of her bright look--'she'd tak it away.' The tone gave Reuben a shock. But he did not rebuke it. For the first time he and Louie were conspirators in the same plot. 'No, no, I'd see to 'at. But how ud yo get it made?' He was beginning to feel a childish interest in his scheme. 'Me an Annie Wigson ud mak it oop fast enough. Theer are things I can do for her; she'd not want no payin, an she's fearfu' good at dressmakin. She wor prenticed two years afore she took ill.' 'Gie me a kiss then, my gell; doan't yo gie naw trooble, an we'st see. But I mun get a good price, yo know.' And rising, Reuben bent towards his niece. She rose on tiptoe, and just touched his rough cheek. There was no natural childish effusiveness in the action. For the seven years since she left her father, Louie had quite unlearnt kissing. Reuben proceeded up the lane to the gate leading to the moor. He was in the highest spirits. What a mercy he had not bothered Hannah with Mr. Ancrum's remarks! Why, the boy wouldn't go to a trade, not if he were sent! At the gate he ran against David, who came hastily out of the farmyard to intercept him. 'Uncle Reuben, what do they coe that bit watter up theer?' and he pointed up the lane towards the main ridge of the Peak. 'Yo know--that bit pool on t' way to th' Downfall?' The farmer stopped bewildered. 'That bit watter? What they coe that bit watter? Why, they coe it t' Witch's Pool, or used to i' my yoong days. An for varra good reason too. They drownded an owd witch theer i' my grand-feyther's time--I've heerd my grandmither tell th' tale on't scores o' times. An theer's aw mak o' tales about it, or used to be. I hannot yeerd mony words about it o' late years. Who's been talkin to yo, Davy?' Louie came running up and listened. 'I doan't know,' said the boy,--'what soart o' tales?' 'Why, they'd use to say th' witch walked, on soom neets i' th' year--Easter Eve, most pertickerlerly--an foak wor feeart to goo onywhere near it on those neets. But doan't yo goo listenin to tales, Davy,' said Reuben, with a paternal effusion most rare with him, and born of his recent proceedings; 'yo'll only freeten yorsel o' neets for nothin.' 'What are witches?' demanded Louie, scornfully. 'I doan't bleeve in 'em.' Reuben frowned a little.