's less in her thoughts than he
was. She 'm larnin' wisdom, as well she may wi' sich a faither."

"I doan't knaw what to think," answered Mr. Lyddon, somewhat gloomily.
"I ban't so much in her confidence as of auld days. Damaris Blanchard's
right, like enough. A maid 's tu deep even for the faither that got her,
most times. A sweet, dear gal as ever was, for all that. How fares it,
John? She never names 'e to me, though I do to her."

"I'm biding my time, neighbour. I reckon 't will be right one day. It
only makes me feel a bit mean now and again to have to say hard things
about young Blanchard. Still, while she 's wrapped up there, I may
whistle for her."

"You 'm in the right," declared Billy. "'T is an auld sayin' that all
manner of dealings be fair in love, an' true no doubt, though I'm a
bachelor myself an' no prophet in such matters."

"All's fair for certain," admitted John, as though he had not before
considered the position from this standpoint.

"Ay, an' a darter's welfare lies in her faither's hand. Thank God, I'm
not a parent to my knowledge; but 'tis a difficult calling in life, an'
a young maiden gal, purty as a picksher, be a heavy load to a honest
mind."

"So I find it," said the miller.

"You've forbid Will--lock, stock, and barrel--therefore, of coourse,
she 's no right to think more of him, to begin with," continued the old
man. It was a new idea.

"Come to think of it, she hasn't--eh?" asked John.

"No, that's true enough," admitted Mr. Lyddon.

"I speak, though of low position, but well thought of an' at Miller's
right hand, so to say," continued Mr. Blee; "so theer 't is: Missy's in
a dangerous pass. Eve's flesh be Eve's flesh, whether hid under flannel
or silk, or shawed mother-naked to the sun after the manner of furrin
cannibals. A gal 's a gal; an' if I was faither of such as your darter,
I'd count it my solemn duty to see her out of the dangers of life an'
tidily mated to a gude man. I'd say to myself, 'Her'll graw to bless me
for what I've done, come a few years.'"

So Billy Blee, according to his golden rule, advised men upon the road
they already desired to follow, and thus increased his reputation for
sound sense and far-reaching wisdom.

"It's true, every word he says," declared John Grimbal.

"I believe it," answered the miller; "though God forbid any word or act
of mine should bring wan tear to Phoebe's cheek. Yet, somehow, I doan't
knaw but you 'm right."

"I am, bel