“I forgived ’e afore the words was out of your mouth,” she answered. Whereupon he dropped the reins and hugged her close and nearly upset the trap. Presently they passed Bennett’s Cross, where that mediæval monument stands deep in the heather; then they came to the Warren Inn, perched on lofty ground under Hurston Ridge in the middle of the Moor. As Daniel drew up, a man came out of the hostelry, walked to the horse’s nose and stroked it. He was almost hairless. His small eyes glittered out of his round countenance like a pig’s; his short figure was of amazing corpulence. A smile sat on his fat face, and his voice came in a thin and piping treble, like a bird’s. “Here you be then?” “Yes, Johnny, here us be. This is Minnie Marshall, who’s going to marry me presently. Minnie, this here man is Johnny Beer--beer by name an’ barrel by nature! There’s not a better chap ’pon the Moor, and him an’ his wife will be our only neighbours for three miles round.” Mr Beer beamed and shook Minnie’s outstretched hand. “A bowerly maiden, sure enough,” he said frankly. “I hope you’ll like the cot, my dear. ’Tis lonesome to a town-bred mind, but very pleasant you will find. And wi’ a husband handy, you’ll have all you want. An’ my missis for your friend, I hope. She’m not a beauty, but she wears something wonderful, an’ she’ve a heart so wide as a church-door, though fretful where the poultry’s concerned. Everybody to Postbridge will tell you of her qualities. Of course it ban’t my place. But never was a one like she in all the blessed West Countree.” “Bring a pint of liquor an’ the key of the cottage, Johnny,” said young Sweetland; “an’ then after a drink, us’ll walk down, an’ Minnie can make up her mind.” “There’s only one thing against the place, an’ that is the name,” declared Mr Beer. “Though for my part I don’t see why you shouldn’t change the name. It can be done without any fuss or documents, I believe. ’Tis called ‘Hangman’s Hut,’ because the first person as lived there killed himself, being tired of having the world against him. With an old peat knife, he took his life. But if I was you, I should just change that an’ call it by some pretty name, like ‘Moor View Villa,’ or what not.” “Never,” declared Daniel. “I’m above a small thing like that--so’s my girl. ‘Hangman’s Hut’ be a good, grim name--not easy to forget. Shall be left so--eh, Minnie?” “The name’s nought if the place is weather-tight, an’ healthy, an’ clean. Call it what you please, Daniel.” Sweetland turned triumphantly to the innkeeper. “That’s the sort she is,” he said.