ut of the shadow.

CHAPTER XI - Nib and His Master Make a Call

"Hoo's a queer little wench," said one of the roughest Rigganite
matrons, after Anice's first visit, "I wur i' th' middle o' my weshin
when she coom,--up to th' neck i' th' suds,--and I wur vexed enow when
I seed her standin' i' th' door, lookin' at me wi' them big eyes o'
hers--most loike a babby's wonderin' at summat. 'We dun-not want none,'
I says, soart o' sharp loike, th' minute I clapped my eyes on her.
'Theer's no one here as can read, an' none on us has no toime to spare
if we could, so we dunnot want none.' 'Dunnot want no what?' she says.
'No tracks,' says I. And what do yo' think she does, lasses? Why, she
begins to soart o' dimple up about th' corners o' her mouth as if I'd
said summat reight down queer, an' she gi'es a bit o' a laff. 'Well,'
she says, 'I'm glad o' that. It's a good thing, fur I hav'n't got
none.' An' then it turns out that she just stopped fur nowt but to leave
some owd linen an' salve for to dress that sore hond Jack crushed i' th'
pit. He'd towd her about it as he went to his work, and she promised to
bring him some. An' what's more, she wouldna coom in, but just gi' it
me, an' went her ways, as if she had na been th' Parson's lass at aw,
but just one o' th' common koind, as knowd how to moind her own business
an' leave other folkses a-be."

The Rigganites became quite accustomed to the sight of Anice's small low
phaeton, with its comfortable fat gray pony. She was a pleasant sight
herself as she sat in it, her little whip in her small gloved hand, and
no one was ever sorry to see her check the gray pony before the door.

"Anice!" said Mr. Barholm to his curate, "well! you see Anice
understands these people, and they understand her. She has the faculty
of understanding them. There is nothing, you may be assured, Grace, like
understanding the lower orders, and entering into their feelings."

There was one member of Riggan society who had ranged himself among Miss
Barholm's disciples from the date of his first acquaintance with her,
who was her staunch friend and adviser from that time forward--the
young master of "th' best tarrier i' Riggan." Neither Jud Bates nor
Nib faltered in their joint devotions from the hour of their first
introduction to "th' Parson's daughter." When they presented themselves
at the Rectory together, the cordiality of Nib's reception had lessened
his master's awkwardness. Nib was neither awkw