short. Na, lass, a'se niver got a
mirroring glass for t' see mysen in, so what's waistcoats to me?
Keep thy stuff to thysen, theere's a good wench; but a'se main and
glad about t' measter. Place isn't like itsen when he's shut up and
cranky.'

He took up a wisp of straw and began rubbing down the old mare, and
hissing over his work as if he wished to consider the conversation
as ended. And Sylvia, who had strung herself up in a momentary
fervour of gratitude to make the generous offer, was not sorry to
have it refused, and went back planning what kindness she could show
to Kester without its involving so much sacrifice to herself. For
giving waistcoat fronts to him would deprive her of the pleasant
power of selecting a fashionable pattern in Monkshaven churchyard
next Sunday.

That wished-for day seemed long a-coming, as wished-for days most
frequently do. Her father got better by slow degrees, and her mother
was pleased by the tailor's good pieces of work; showing the
neatly-placed patches with as much pride as many matrons take in new
clothes now-a-days. And the weather cleared up into a dim kind of
autumnal fineness, into anything but an Indian summer as far as
regarded gorgeousness of colouring, for on that coast the mists and
sea fogs early spoil the brilliancy of the foliage. Yet, perhaps,
the more did the silvery grays and browns of the inland scenery
conduce to the tranquillity of the time,--the time of peace and rest
before the fierce and stormy winter comes on. It seems a time for
gathering up human forces to encounter the coming severity, as well
as of storing up the produce of harvest for the needs of winter. Old
people turn out and sun themselves in that calm St. Martin's summer,
without fear of 'the heat o' th' sun, or the coming winter's rages,'
and we may read in their pensive, dreamy eyes that they are weaning
themselves away from the earth, which probably many may never see
dressed in her summer glory again.

Many such old people set out betimes, on the Sunday afternoon to
which Sylvia had been so looking forward, to scale the long flights
of stone steps--worn by the feet of many generations--which led up
to the parish church, placed on a height above the town, on a great
green area at the summit of the cliff, which was the angle where the
river and the sea met, and so overlooking both the busy crowded
little town, the port, the shipping, and the bar on the one hand,
and the wide illimitable tranq