r. Philip spoke
to Phoebe in the familiar words of country-folk. Indeed, until his
marriage, Phoebe had always called him by his Christian name, and
had found it very difficult to change it into 'master.'

'Where's Sylvie?' said he.

'Gone out wi' t' babby,' replied Phoebe.

'Why can't Nancy carry it out?' asked Philip.

It was touching on the old grievance: he was tired, and he spoke
with sharp annoyance. Phoebe might easily have told him the real
state of the case; Nancy was busy at her washing, which would have
been reason enough. But the nursemaid had vexed her, and she did not
like Philip's sharpness, so she only said,--

'It's noane o' my business; it's yo' t' look after yo'r own wife and
child; but yo'r but a lad after a'.'

This was not conciliatory speech, and just put the last stroke to
Philip's fit of ill-temper.

'I'm not for my tea to-night,' said he, to Hester, when all was
ready. 'Sylvie's not here, and nothing is nice, or as it should be.
I'll go and set to on t' stock-taking. Don't yo' hurry, Hester; stop
and chat a bit with th' old lady.'

'Nay, Philip,' said Hester, 'thou's sadly tired; just take this cup
o' tea; Sylvia 'll be grieved if yo' haven't something.'

'Sylvia doesn't care whether I'm full or fasting,' replied he,
impatiently putting aside the cup. 'If she did she'd ha' taken care
to be in, and ha' seen to things being as I like them.'

Now in general Philip was the least particular of men about meals;
and to do Sylvia justice, she was scrupulously attentive to every
household duty in which old Phoebe would allow her to meddle, and
always careful to see after her husband's comforts. But Philip was
too vexed at her absence to perceive the injustice of what he was
saying, nor was he aware how Bell Robson had been attending to what
he said. But she was sadly discomfited by it, understanding just
enough of the grievance in hand to think that her daughter was
neglectful of those duties which she herself had always regarded as
paramount to all others; nor could Hester convince her that Philip
had not meant what he said; neither could she turn the poor old
woman's thoughts from the words which had caused her distress.

Presently Sylvia came in, bright and cheerful, although breathless
with hurry.

'Oh,' said she, taking off her wet shawl, 'we've had to shelter from
such a storm of rain, baby and me--but see! she's none the worse for
it, as bonny as iver, bless her.'

Hester began