But it was Jan. The outer curls of his hair gleamed in the sunlight like an aureole about his face. He had doffed his hat, out of civility, and he held it in one hand, whilst with the other he fingered the slate that hung at his waist. “Massey upon us!” said the farmer, looking up at the same instant. “And who be thee?” “Jan Lake, the miller’s son, maester.” “Come in, come in!” cried Master Salter, hospitably. “So Master Lake have sent thee with a message, eh?” “My father didn’t send me,” said Jan, gravely. “I come myself. Do ’ee want a pig-minder, Master Salter?” “Ay, I wants a pig-minder. But I reckon thee father can’t spare Abel for that now. A wish he could. Abel was careful with the pigs, he was, and a sprack boy, too.” “I’ll be careful, main careful, Master Salter,” said Jan, earnestly. “I likes pigs.” But the farmer was pondering. “Jan Lake—Jan,” said he. “Be thee the boy as draad out the sow and her pigs for Master Chuter’s little gel?” Jan nodded. “Lor massey!” cried Master Salter. “I’ told’ee, missus, about un. Look here, Jan Lake. If thee’ll draa me out some pigs like them, I’ll give ’ee sixpence and a new slate, and I’ll try thee for a week, anyhow.” [Picture: “Lor massey!” cried Master Salter. “I’ told’ee, missus, about un. Look here, Jan Lake. If thee’ll draa me out some pigs like them, I’ll give ’ee sixpence and a new slate, and I’ll try thee for a week, anyhow.”] Jan drew the slate-pencil from his pocket without reply. Mrs. Salter, who had been watching him with motherly eyes, pushed a small stool towards him, and he began to draw a scene such as he had been studying daily for months past,—pigs at the water-side. He had made dozens of such sketches. But the delight of the farmer knew no bounds. He slapped his knees, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks, and, as Jan put a very wicked eye into the face of the hindmost pig, he laughed merrily also. He was not insensible of his own talents, and the stimulus of the farmer’s approbation gave vigor to his strokes. “Here, missus,” cried Master Salter; “get down our Etherd’s new slate, and give it to un; I’ll get another for he. And there’s the sixpence, Jan; and if thee minds pigs as well as ’ee draas ’em, I don’t care how long ’ee minds mine.” The object of his visit being now accomplished, Jan took up his hat to depart, but an important omission struck him, and he turned to say, “What’ll ’ee give me for minding your pigs, Master Salter?” Master Salter was economical, and Jan was small, and anxious for the place. “A shilling a week,” said the farmer. “And his tea?” the missus gently suggested. “Well, I don’t mind,” said Master Salter. “A shilling a week and thee tea.” Jan paused. His predecessor had had eighteen pence for very imperfect services. Jan meant to be beyond reproach, and felt himself worth quite as much.