id the girl, 'to keep at home on
Sunday.'

'And you are--' said I.

'The master's niece!' said the girl. 'How came you to know it? But why
did you not go with the rest and with your friends?'

'Who are those you call my friends?' said I.

'Peter and his wife.'

'And who are they?' said I.

'Do you not know?' said the girl; 'you came with them.'

'They found me ill by the way,' said I; 'and they relieved me: I know
nothing about them.'

'I thought you knew everything,' said the girl.

'There are two or three things which I do not know, and this is one of
them. Who are they?'

'Did you never hear of the great Welsh preacher, Peter Williams?'

'Never,' said I.

'Well,' said the girl, 'this is he, and Winifred is his wife, and a nice
person she is. Some people say, indeed, that she is as good a preacher
as her husband, though of that matter I can say nothing, having never
heard her preach. So these two wander over all Wales and the greater
part of England, comforting the hearts of the people with their doctrine,
and doing all the good they can. They frequently come here, for the
mistress is a Welsh woman, and an old friend of both, and then they take
up their abode in the cart beneath the old oaks down there by the
stream.'

'And what is their reason for doing so?' said I; 'would it not be more
comfortable to sleep beneath a roof?'

'I know not their reasons,' said the girl, 'but so it is; they never
sleep beneath a roof unless the weather is very severe. I once heard the
mistress say that Peter had something heavy upon his mind; perhaps that
is the cause. If he is unhappy, all I can say is, that I wish him
otherwise, for he is a good man and a kind--'

'Thank you,' said I, 'I will now depart.'

'Hem!' said the girl, 'I was wishing--'

'What? to ask me a question?'

'Not exactly; but you seem to know everything; you mentioned, I think,
fortune-telling.'

'Do you wish me to tell your fortune?'

'By no means; but I have a friend at a distance at sea, and I should wish
to know--'

'When he will come back? I have told you already there are two or three
things which I do not know--this is another of them. However, I should
not be surprised if he were to come back some of these days; I would if I
were in his place. In the meantime be patient, attend to the dairy, and
read the _Dairyman's Daughter_ when you have nothing better to do.'

It was late in the evening when the party of the mornin