esence, she had commanded him never to speak
to her again.

"Won't 'ee come in by the vire, zur? You mus' be fine 'n' wet."

"Thank you," said Leicester, in reply to the invitation of the buxom
farmer's wife. He entered the large farm kitchen, at one end of which a
huge wood fire was burning.

"Why, you be fair streamin'," said the woman. "Zet cloas by the vire,
and dry yerzelf. Do 'ee then. You'll catch yer death ef you doan't."

"Well, there'd be one less in the world," said Leicester, "and as the
world is sufficiently populated, that would not matter."

"Fer shaame, zur. You be jokin'."

"I never joke," replied Leicester. "Still, if I died, there'd be the
trouble of burying me, and that would be a pity."

"Fer shaame, I d' zay," said the kindly woman; "what would your mother
zay, ef she 'eerd 'ee?"

"Haven't got a mother."

"Yer vather, then?"

"No father either," said Leicester. "If he were alive I'm inclined to
think he'd say, 'Die, and have done with it.'"

"But you've got brothers, or sisters, or a wife, or a sweetheart?" She
said this not so much for the sake of proving that he was in the wrong,
but because, like the rest of her sex, especially those who live in
lonely places, she desired to know something about this stranger.

Leicester shook his head.

"Well, you be in a bad way."

"Exactly," said Leicester, "I am." He yielded to a sudden impulse. "Now
I put it to you, ma'am," he said, "suppose you had no friends, no one
who cared for you; suppose you found the world a dirty sort of place,
and found no pleasure in living, what would you do?"

"Do! I shud git somebody that ded care for me."

"I've tried, but failed."

"Ain't 'ee got a sweetheart, then?"

"Not one."

"Is there no one that you do like?"

"Yes," he said, "but she's thrown me overboard."

"Gived 'ee the sack, you do main?"

"Exactly."

"Why then, zur, maakin' so bould?"

He was in a reckless mood, and in a way he could not understand, the
buxom, kind-hearted woman led him to speak.

"Because I'm a bad 'un."

"Nonsense."

"Fact, I assure you. A right down bad 'un."

"And es she very good?"

"Terribly good, terribly proud, and terribly unforgiving."

"And ded she give 'ee the sack 'cause you wos so bad?"

"More because I hurt her pride, I think."

"Ah, I zee."

"Come now, under these circumstances, what would you do?"

"I'd begin by bein' a good man, and laive the rest to God."

"God!" and Leicester lau