tood. Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the
yard at that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow
and heavy-dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the
house towards the kitchen entrance. A chill came over Ashurst's mood.
Clods? With all the good will in the world, how impossible to get on
terms with them! And yet--see that girl! Her shoes were split, her
hands rough; but--what was it? Was it really her Celtic blood, as Garton
had said?--she was a lady born, a jewel, though probably she could do no
more than just read and write!

The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen had
come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking. Ashurst
saw that he was lame.

"You've got some good ones there!"

The lame man's face brightened. He had the upward look in his eyes which
prolonged suffering often brings.

"Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu."

"I bet they are."

"'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr."

"Thank you, it's getting on."

The lame man touched his own: "I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main
worritin' thing, the knee. I've a-'ad mine bad this ten year."

Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those who
have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again.

"Mustn't complain, though--they mighty near 'ad it off."

"Ho!"

"Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu."

"They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine."

"The maid she picks et. She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers. There's
folks zeem to know the healin' in things. My mother was a rare one for
that. 'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr. Goo ahn, therr!"

Ashurst smiled. "Wi' the flowers!" A flower herself!

That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the girl
came in.

"Please, auntie says--will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?"

"If I may come to the kitchen for it."

"Oh, yes! You'll be missing your friend."

"Not I. But are you sure no one minds?"

"Who would mind? We shall be very pleased."

Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and subsided.
The girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. Ashurst took them,
small, rough, brown; checked his impulse to put them to his lips, and let
her pull him up. She came close beside him, offering her shoulder. And
leaning on her he walked across the room. That shoulder seemed quite the
plea