"Nay, rest you," urged the widow. "Gi th' childer a holiday--. Yer' none yersen tha morn, an' to be sure which on us is? I'll ha' some ham in th' pan i' a jiffy, an' it's Fairbanks fed, an yo know what that means." "Nay, nay, tempt me not, tempt me not. Those lads o' mine e'en now are up to their eyes in mischief. There'll be a crooked pin in the cushion of my chair, a chalk drawing of Priscilla, none too flattering, on the map of Europe, and those of them that are not playing cots and tyes for buttons will be playing 'Follow mi leader' over the forms and desks. It's much if the windows arn't broken and there wont be a button left on some of their clothes--inveterate gamblers as though they shook a box at Brighton Spa." Mr. Black's tone was harsh, but there was a gleam in his eye that took away the sting of his speech. "Yo're a good Churchman, aw know," said Redfearn, "for yo' do as th' owd Book tells us--yo' spare the rod an' spoil the child. But we mun settle summat about th' bairn here, an' aw'll be down to-neet as soon as I can get." Mr. Black bent over the sleeping babe nestling in its nurse's arms. "Come early," whispered Molly, "aw've summat to say to yo' partic'ler." It was but a distracted mind the teacher gave that day to the budding genius of his school. He was lost in conjecture as to what Moll might have to say to him, and not less in surprise that she should have aught at all, for though that hard-featured damsel of the rasping tongue treated him with a deference shown to no other he could think of no subject demanding the secrecy Molly's manner had seemed to ask. He did not fail to be early at the _Hanging Gate_, indeed Mrs. Schofield, her wonted serenity restored by an afternoon's nap on the settle, had but just sided the tea-things, after that meal which is locally called a "baggin'"--(another term whose origin is shrouded in mystery) and was still in the sacred retreat upstairs, where she was accustomed to array herself as beseemeth the landlady of a thriving hostelry, with money in the bank, and that could change her condition by holding up her little finger. Molly no longer held the child in her arms. It had been transferred into the highly polished mahogany cradle, which Molly worked gently with her foot, and which also had doubtless been purchased for the use of that disappointing Benny. "Eh! Aw'm glad yo'n come," she said eagerly, as Mr. Black removed his wraps. "Speak low, th' missis is upstairs, an' these rafters is like sounding boards." She thrust her hand deep into one of those long linen pockets beneath the upper gown and that only a woman can find.