"How do? Glad to see you," said the young owner of the Foundry, though it was always more looked upon since his father's death as the property of Mrs Glaire. "Find this rather dull place." "I don't think I shall," said the vicar, looking at him curiously. "Very dull place," said the young man. "Very. Come, Evey. You'll call, I suppose?" "Of course I shall," said the vicar, smiling. "I mean to know everybody here." "Thanks, much," said Mr Glaire, glancing at Daisy, who gave herself an angry twitch and turned away. He then drew Eve's arm through his own, and, raising his hat slightly to the vicar, was turning away when his eye lit on the young workman. "Hallo you, Tom Podmore," he cried, "how is it you're not at work?" "That's my business," growled the man. "I'll tell you that when you ain't got young missus there wi' you, and I wean't afore." Richard Glaire looked at the sturdy fellow uneasily, and directed a second glance at Daisy, his vacillating eyes resting for a moment on the pocketed double fists before repeating his words shortly-- "Come along, Evey." "Wait a moment, Dick, dear," she said, disengaging her arm. "How rude you are!" she added in an undertone. "Good day, Mr Selwood, and thank you very much," she said, ingenuously. "Pray come and see us soon. Aunt will be so glad to know you. She was talking about you last night, and wondering what you would be like. Good-bye." She held out her hand, and the constraint that was in spite of himself creeping over the new vicar was thawed away by the genial, innocent sunshine of the young girl's smile. "Good-bye," he said, frankly; and his face lit up with pleasure. "I shall call very soon, and we won't forget the botany." "Oh, no," said Eve, as her arm was once more pinioned. "Come, Daisy, you are coming up to the house." "No, thank you, miss; I must go home now." As she spoke she hurried forward, tripped over the stile first, and was gone. A minute later and Eve had lightly touched Richard Glaire's arm, and climbed the stile in her turn, leaving the vicar to follow slowly, forgetful of the presence of the young workman--Podmore. He was brought back from his dreamy musings on the relation existing between the young fellow who had just gone, and the sweet innocent girl who was his companion, by a rough grasp being laid upon his arm, and turning sharply, there stood Tom Podmore, with the veins in his forehead swelling, and his face black with rage. Volume 1, Chapter II. TOM PODMORE'S GRIEVANCE. "Look here, parson," cried the young workman, in a voice husky with emotion; and as he spoke he dashed his cap upon the ground and began to roll up his sleeves, displaying arms fit, with their sturdy rolls of muscle, for a young Hercules. "Look here, parson. You're a straanger here, and I'll tell 'ee. That's my master, that is, and I shall kill him afore I've done." "Hush, man, hush!" cried the young vicar.