off this morning, that's the truth."

This declaration of Mr. Garth's veracity was not conducive to
amiability.

He looked as black as his sanguine complexion would allow.

Mrs. Garth glanced up at him. "Why, laddie, what ails thee? Thou'rt as
crook't as a tiphorn this morning," she said, in a tone that was meant
to coax her son out of a cantankerous temper.

"I'm like to be," grumbled Mr. Garth.

"Why, laddie?" asked his mother, purring, now in other fashion.

"Why?" said Joe,--"why?--because I can never sleep at night now, no,
nor work in the day neither--that's _why_."

"Hush!" said Mrs. Garth, turning a quick eye towards the
aforementioned door. Then quietly resuming her attentions to the
gorse, she added, in another tone, "That's nowther nowt nor summat,
lad."

"It'll take a thicker skin nor mine, mother, to hold out much longer,"
said Joe huskily, but struggling to speak beneath his breath.

"Yer skin's as thin as a cat-lug," said Mrs. Garth in a bitter
whisper.

"I've told you I cannot hold out much longer," said Joe, "and I
cannot."

"Hod thy tongue, then," growled Mrs. Garth over the kettle.

There was a minute's silence between them.

The blacksmith donned his upper garments. His mother listened for the
simmer and bubble of the water on the fire.

"How far did ye bargain to tak them?"

"To Gaskarth--the little lame fellow will make for the Carlisle coach
once they're there?"

"When was t'horse and car to be ready?"

"Nine o'clock forenoon."

"Then it's full time they were gitten roused."

Mrs. Garth rose from the stool, hobbled to the door which had been
previously indicated by sundry nods and jerks, and gave it two or
three sharp raps.

A voice from within answered sleepily, "Right--right as a trivet, old
lady," and yawned.

Mrs. Garth put her head close to the door-jamb.

"Ye'd best be putten the better leg afore, gentlemen," she said with
becoming amiability; "yer breakfast is nigh about ready, gentlemen."

"The better leg, David, eh? Ha! ha! ha!" came from another muffled
voice within.

Mrs. Garth turned about, oblivious of her own conceit. In a voice and
manner that had undergone a complete and sudden change, she whispered
to Joe,--

"Thou'rt a great bledderen fool."

The blacksmith had been wrapped in his thoughts. His reply was
startlingly irrelevant.

"Fool or none, I'll not do it," said Joe emphatically.

"Do what?" asked his mother in a tone of genuine inquiry.