y well for the lords of
the manor and such sort of folk to make their wills, for, what with
one thing and another, their property runs cross and cross, and
there's scarce any knowing what way it lies; but for a statesman
owning maybe a hundred or two of acres and a thousand or two of sheep,
forby a house and the like, it's not needful at all. The willing is
all done by the law."

"So it is, so it is, lass," said Mrs. Garth. The girls thought there
was a cruel and sinister light in the old woman's eyes as she spoke.
"Ey, the willin's all done by t' law; but, as I says to my Joey, 'It
isn't always done to our likin', Joey'; and nowther is it."

Liza could bear no longer Mrs. Garth's insinuating manner. Coming
forward with a defiant air, the little woman said: "Look you, don't
you snurl so; but if you've anything to say, just open your mouth and
tell us what it's about."

The challenge was decidedly unequivocal.

"'Od bliss the lass!" cried Mrs. Garth with an air of profound
astonishment "What ails the bit thing?"

"Look here, you've got a deal too much talk to be jannic, _you_ have,"
cried Liza, with an emphasis intended to convey a sense of profound
contempt of loquaciousness in general and of Mrs. Garth's
loquaciousness in particular.

Mrs. Garth's first impulse was to shame her adversary out of her
warlike attitude with a little biting banter. Curling her lip, she
said not very relevantly to the topic in hand, "They've telt me yer a
famous sweethearter, Liza."

"That's mair nor iver _you_ could have been," retorted the girl, who
always dropt into the homespun of the country side in degree as she
became excited.

"Yer gitten ower slape, a deal ower slippery," said Mrs. Garth. "I
always told my Joey as he'd have to throw ye up, and I'm fair pleased
to see he's taken me at my word."

"Oh, he has, has he?" said Liza, rising near to boiling point at the
imputation of being the abandoned sweetheart of the blacksmith. "I
always said as ye could bang them all at leein. I would not have your
Joey if his lips were droppin' honey and his pockets droppin' gold.
Nothing would hire me to do it. Joey indeed!" added Liza, with a
vision of the blacksmith's sanguine head rising before her, "why, you
might light a candle at his poll."

Mrs. Garth's banter was not calculated to outlast this kind of
assault. Rising to her feet, she said: "Weel, thou'rt a rare yan, I
_will_ say. Yer ower fond o' red ribbons, laal thing. It's a