uple, who were
walking slowly enough, the girl's bright head a little bent, the man
slouching along by her side in apparent silence. All at once the
observer saw Jenny's hand go to her pocket, and draw thence a
handkerchief which she pressed to her eyes.

"She be a-cryin'" commented Betty, not without a certain satisfaction.
"They've a-had a bit of a miff, I d' 'low; well, if the young man have
a-got the feelin's of a man he'd be like to object to this 'ere notion
of hers--Nay, now, he do seem to be a-comfortin' of her. There! Well!"

They had left the village behind, and Betty's solitary figure was
probably unnoticed by the lovers. In any case it proved no hindrance
to the very affectionate demonstrations which now took place.
Presently Jenny straightened her hat, restored her handkerchief to her
pocket, and walked on, "arm-in-crook" with her admirer.

"They be a-goin' to Susan's, sure enough. Well, to be sure! Of all the
hard-hearted brazen-faced--!" words failed her, and she quickened her
pace as the couple disappeared round the angle of the lane. A few
minutes' brisk walking brought the pair, with Betty at their heels, to
a solitary cottage standing a little back from the lane in the shelter
of a high furze-grown bank. As the young man tapped at the door Jenny
turned and descried Betty's figure by the garden-gate.

"Is it you, Mrs. Tuffin?" she inquired. "I can scarce see who 'tis wi'
the sun shinin' in my eyes. Be you a-goin' in?"

"It's me," responded Betty tartly, in reply to the first question,
while she dismissed the second with an equally curt "I be."

The door opened and the figure of a stout elderly woman stood outlined
against the glow of firelight within. She peered out, shading her eyes
from the level rays of the sinking sun, and starting back at sight of
Jenny.

"'Tis you, be it? Well, I didn't think you'd have the face to come, so
soon."

"I did just look in to say a word o' consolation, Miss Vacher," said
the girl, drawing herself up. "I be very grieved myself about this
melancholy noos. I've a-been cryin' terrible, I have, an' says I, 'Me
an' poor Abel's dear aunt 'ull mingle our tears.'"

"Mingle fiddlesticks!" said Susan. "What be that there young spark o'
yours a-doin' here? Be he come to drop a tear too?"

"He be come along to take care of I," said the girl demurely. "'Tis
Mr. Sam Keynes. He didn't think it right for I to walk so far by
myself. Did ye, Sam?"

"Well, now ye can walk b