, 'tis being proud of her hair,' said Mr. Springrove.

'Dear man!--the pride there is only a small piece o' the whole. I
warrant now, though she can show such a figure, she ha'n't a stick o'
furniture to call her own.'

'Come, Clerk Crickett, let the maid be a maid while she is a maid,' said
Farmer Springrove chivalrously.

'O,' replied the servant of the Church; 'I've nothen to say against
it--O no:

'"The chimney-sweeper's daughter Sue
As I have heard declare, O,
Although she's neither sock nor shoe
Will curl and deck her hair, O."'

Cytherea was rather disconcerted at finding that the gradual cessation
of the chopping of the mill was on her account, and still more when she
saw all the cider-makers' eyes fixed upon her except Mr. Springrove's,
whose natural delicacy restrained him. She neared the plot of grass, but
instead of advancing further, hesitated on its border.

Mr. Springrove perceived her embarrassment, which was relieved when she
saw his old-established figure coming across to her, wiping his hands in
his apron.

'I know your errand, missie,' he said, 'and am glad to see you, and
attend to it. I'll step indoors.'

'If you are busy I am in no hurry for a minute or two,' said Cytherea.

'Then if so be you really wouldn't mind, we'll wring down this last
filling to let it drain all night?'

'Not at all. I like to see you.'

'We are only just grinding down the early pickthongs and griffins,'
continued the farmer, in a half-apologetic tone for detaining by
his cider-making any well-dressed woman. 'They rot as black as a
chimney-crook if we keep 'em till the regulars turn in.' As he spoke he
went back to the press, Cytherea keeping at his elbow. 'I'm later than
I should have been by rights,' he continued, taking up a lever for
propelling the screw, and beckoning to the men to come forward.
'The truth is, my son Edward had promised to come to-day, and I made
preparations; but instead of him comes a letter: "London, September the
eighteenth, Dear Father," says he, and went on to tell me he couldn't.
It threw me out a bit.'

'Of course,' said Cytherea.

'He's got a place 'a b'lieve?' said the clerk, drawing near.

'No, poor mortal fellow, no. He tried for this one here, you know, but
couldn't manage to get it. I don't know the rights o' the matter, but
willy-nilly they wouldn't have him for steward. Now mates, form in
line.'

Springrove, the clerk, the grinders, and