do."

"Perhaps he doesn't know himself," suggested Martin. The name of "Clem,"
uttered thus carelessly by her, made him envious. Then, inspired by the
circumstance, a request which fairly astounded the speaker by its valour
dropped on his listener's ear.

"By the way, don't call me 'Mr. Grimbal.' I hope you'll let me be
'Martin' in a friendly way to you all, if you will be so very kind and
not mind my asking."

The end of the sentence had its tail between its legs, but he got the
words cleanly out, and his reward was great.

"Why, of course, if you'd rather us did; an' you can call me 'Chris' if
you mind to," she said, laughing. "'T is strange you took sides against
your brother somehow to me."

"I haven't--I didn't--except in the matter of Phoebe. He was wrong
there, and I told him so,--"

He meant to end the sentence with the other's name, only the word stuck
in his throat; but "Miss Blanchard" he would not say, after her
permission, so left a gap.

"He'll not forgive 'e that in a hurry."

"Not readily, but some day, I hope. Now I must really go--wasting your
precious time like this; and I do hope you may read the book."

"That Will may?"

"No--yes--both of you, in fact. And I'll come to know whether you liked
it. Might I?"

"Whether Will liked it?"

She nodded and laughed, then the door hid her; while Martin Grimbal went
his way treading upon air. Those labourers whom he met received from him
such a "Good evening!" that the small parties, dropping back on Chagford
from their outlying toil, grinned inquiringly, they hardly knew at what.

Meantime, Chris Blanchard reflected, and the laughter faded out of her
eyes, leaving them grave and a little troubled. She was sufficiently
familiar with lovers' ways. The bold, the uncouth, the humble, and
timorous were alike within her experience. She watched this kind-faced
man grow hot and cold as he spoke to her, noted the admixture of
temerity and fear that divided his mind and appeared in his words. She
had seen his lips tremble and refuse to pronounce her name; and she
rightly judged that he would possibly repeat it aloud to himself more
than once before he slept that night. Chris was no flirt, and now
heartily regretted her light and friendly banter upon the man's
departure. "I be a silly fule, an' wouldn't whisper a word of this to
any but Clem," she thought, "for it may be nothing but the nervous way
of un, an' such a chap 's a right to seek a sight furthe