r. 'Wast humble enough
about it, doubtless. You'm bound to tek a man's own word about his own
feelings. Who is to know 'em if he doesn't?'

'Just so,' said Thistlewood, with great dryness. He appeared to be
little if at all disturbed by the interruption, but Bertha was blushing
like a peony.

'I sat quiet,' said the girl's mother, leisurely walking round the
door with a half-finished gray worsted stocking depending from the
knitting-needles she carried in both hands,--' I sat quiet so as not
to be a disturbance. It's you for making love to a maid, I must allow,
John.'

The girl ran into the house and disappeared from view.

'It's me for speaking my mind, at least, ma'am,' returned John, with
unaltered tranquil doggedness.

'Ah!' responded the farmer's wife; 'you're like a good many more of 'em;
you'd sooner not have what you want than go the right way to get it.'

Thistlewood digested this in silence, and Mrs. Fellowes set the
knitting-needles flashing.

'I've always fancied,' he said in a little while, 'as I had your
goodwill in the matter.'

'You've got my goodwill, in a way to be sure,' said the old woman.
'You'd mek the gell a goodish husband if her could find a fancy for
you--but the fancy's everything--don't you see, John?'

'I'm not above taking advice, Mrs. Fellowes,' said Thistlewood, digging
at the gravel with his walking-stick. 'Will you be so good as to tell me
where I'm wrong?'

'There's one particular as you're wrong in,' returned Mrs. Fellowes,
knitting away with a determinedly uninteresting air, 'and, I misdoubt
me, you can't alter it.'

'What's that?' asked Thistlewood, looking up at her suddenly.

'You're the wrong man, John.'

'That remains to be seen,' he answered, with the same dogged patience as
before.

'You can't win a maid's heart by going at her as solemn as a funeral,'
pursued the old woman. 'If you'd ha' begun sprightly with the gell, you
might ha' had a chance with her. "La!" says you, "what a pretty frock
you're a-wearing to-day;" or "How nice you do do up your hair for a
certainty."'

'I don't look on marriage as a thing to be approached i' that fashion,'
said Thistlewood.

'Well,' returned the old woman, clicking her needles with added
rapidity, 'I've always said there's no end to the folly o' men. D'ye
hear that there cuckoo? Go and catch him wi' shoutin' at him. An' when
next you're in want of toast at tay-time, soak your bread in a pan o'
cold water.'

Thistlew