white had taken a tinge of yellow, reminding her of the
prize beef at the Christmas market last week. Somehow she could find
nothing to say.

"The old man's in bed, I reckon. I saw the light in his window."

"You've had a wet tramp of it," was all she found to reply, though aware
that the speech was inconsequent and trivial.

"Damnably. Left the coach at Fiddler's Cross, and trudged down across
the fields. We were soaked enough on the coach, though, and couldn't
get much worse."

"We?"

"Why, you don't suppose I was the only passenger by the coach, eh?" he
put in quickly.

"No, I forgot."

There was an awkward silence, and William's eyes travelled round the
kitchen till they lit on the kettle standing by the hearthstone.
"Got any rum in the cupboard?" While she was getting it out, he took
off his cap and great-coat, hung them up behind the door, and, pulling
the small table close to the fire, sat beside it, toasting his knees.
'Lizabeth set bottle and glass before him, and stood watching as he
mixed the stuff.

"So you're only a private."

William set down the kettle with some violence.

"You still keep a cursedly rough tongue, I notice."

"An' you've been a soldier five year. I reckoned you'd be a sergeant at
least," she pursued simply, with her eyes on his undecorated sleeve.

William took a gulp.

"How do you know I've not been a sergeant?"

"Then you've been degraded. I'm main sorry for that."

"Look here, you hush up! Damn it! there's girls enough have fancied
this coat, though it ain't but a private's; and that's enough for you, I
take it."

"It's handsome."

"There, that'll do. I do believe you're spiteful because I didn't offer
to kiss you when I came in. Here, Cousin 'Lizabeth," he exclaimed,
starting up, "I'll be sworn for all your tongue you're the prettiest
maid I've seen this five year. Give me a kiss."

"Don't, William!"

Such passionate entreaty vibrated in her voice that William, who was
advancing, stopped for a second to stare. Then, with a laugh, he had
caught and kissed her loudly.

Her cheeks were flaming when she broke free.

William turned, emptied his glass at a gulp, and began to mix a second.

"There, there; you never look so well as when you're angered,
'Lizabeth."

"'Twas a coward's trick," she panted.

"Christmas-time, you spitfire. So you ain't married yet? Lord!
I don't wonder they fight shy of you; you'd be a handful, my vixen, for
any man t