"I never quarrel with a man for being cross when he has had something to put him out," said the vicar, quietly. Then seeing that he was touching dangerous ground, he added, "By the way, where's the vicarage?" "That's it, next the church," was the reply. "Yes, I see; and what's that big building with the smoking chimneys?" "Foundry," was said gruffly. "To be sure, yes. Bell foundry, isn't it?" "Yes." Then after a pause, "I work theer." "Indeed?" "Tell you what," said the young man, growing sociable in spite of himself; "yow get leave and I'll show you all about the works. No I wean't, though," he exclaimed, abruptly. "Cuss the works, I'll never go there no more." The new vicar looked at him, tightening his lips a little. "Another sore place, eh?" he said to himself, and turned the conversation once more. "What sort of people are you at Dumford, my lad?" "Hey? what sort o' people? Why, men and women and bairns, of course. What did you expect they weer?" "I mean as to conduct," said the vicar, laughing. "What will they say to me, for instance?" The young man's face grew less cloudy for a few moments, a broad, hearty, honest grin extending it so that he looked a frank, even handsome young fellow. "They'll make it a bit warm for you, parson," he said at last. "Eh? will they?" said the vicar, smiling. "Rough as you were, eh?" "Oh no," said the other, quickly. "Don't you take no notice o' that. I ain't always that how. I was a bit popped this morning." "Yes, I could see you were a bit _popped_," said the vicar. "We all have our troubles, my lad; but it's your true man that gets the strong hand of his anger and masters it." "You look as if you never had nought to make you waxy in your life," said the workman. "I say, what do they call you?" "Call me? A parson, I suppose." "No; I mean call you. What's your name?" "Oh! Selwood--Murray Selwood." "Murray Selwood," said the questioner, repeating it to himself. "It's a curus sort o' name. Why didn't they call you Tom, or Harry, or Sam when thou wast a bairn?" "Can't say," said the vicar, smiling. "I was too young to have a voice in the matter." "You couldn't help it, of course. Say, can yow play cricket?" "Oh yes." "Bowl a bit, I suppose!" "Yes; I'm best with the ball." "Round hand?" "Yes, and pretty sharp." "Give's yer hand, parson, I like yow, hang me if I don't; and I'll come and hear you fust Sunday as you preaches." The two men joined hands, and the grasp was long, earnest, and friendly, for the Reverend Murray Selwood, coming down freshly to his new living amongst people who had been described to him as little better than savages, felt that he had won one rough heart to his side, and was gladdened by the frank open gaze that met his own.