'd burn up all them transgressions: but, ye
see, that wouldn't just suit 'em. These is folk that wants to have th'
Lord--a tidy way from 'em--and keep th' transgressions too. Eh,
Mistress, but when a man can pray right through th' hundred and
thirty-ninth Psalm, his heart's middlin' perfect wi' the Lord.
Otherwise, he'll boggle at them last verses. We don't want Him to
search us when we know He'll find yon wedge o' gold and yon _Babylonish_
garment if He do. Nay, we don't so!"

Now, I know not o'er well what old _Nan_ meaneth: but this do I know--
that whenever I turn o'er the _Psalter_, I ever try to get yon Psalm
betwixt two leaves, and turn them o'er both together, so that I see not
a word on't. I reckon _Nan_ should say my heart was not perfect by a
great way. Well, may-be she'd be none so far out.

SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE XXIX.
To-morrow shall be the last day of my month, and _Tuesday_ even must I
give up the book to _Edith_. I shall not tear out the leaves till the
last minute, and I will keep them when I do.

I do never see nought of my _Protection_ of a _Sunday_, but all other
days meet I him now (whenas I can) in the little copse that lieth
_Thirlmere_ way, not so far from _Nanny's_ hut. Last even was he
essaying to win me for to wed him (as he hath done afore) without
_Father_ and _Mother_ knowing. I have ever held off till now: but I am
not so sure I shall do it much longer. He saith he wist a _Popish_
priest that should do it: and it so done, _Father_ and _Mother_ must
needs come in and give us leave to be wed rightly in church. But I will
consider of the same a day or twain longer.

As to setting down what we do of a _Sunday_, 'tis alway the same o'er
again, so it should be to no good. Once is enough for all.

SELWICK HALL, NOVEMBER YE LAST.
Such a fright have I had this morrow, I may scantly hold my pen. I set
forth for the copse where I do meet with my _Protection_, and had
well-nigh reached it,--verily, I could discern him coming through the
trees to meet me--when from _Nanny's_ hut, right upon us, who should
come out save _Father_, and _Mother_, and _Edith_, their own selves. I
cast but a glint to him that he should not note me, and walked on to
meet them.

"Why, _Milly_!" saith _Mother_. "I wist not thou wert coming this way,
child."

"Under your pleasure, _Mother_, no more did I of you," said I.