were also built of stone; but
as we drove through a village I could see, through several open doors,
that the rooms were very clean and most comfortably furnished, though
without carpets, the floors, like everything else, being of stone.

It was dark before we reached Blackford. The latter part of our
journey was through a coal and iron district, and the glare of the
furnace fires among the hills was like nothing I had ever seen. At the
coach office we were met by Mr. Jonathan Andrewes. He was a tall,
well-made man, with badly-fitting clothes, rather tumbled linen,
imperfectly brushed hair and hat, and some want of that fresh
cleanliness and finish of general appearance which went to my idea of
a gentleman's outside. I found him a warm-hearted, cold-mannered man,
with a clear, strong head, and a shrewdness of observation which
recalled the Rector to my mind more than once. The tones of his voice
made me start sometimes, they were so like the voice that I could
never hear again in this life. He spoke always in the broad dialect
into which the Rector was only wont to relapse in moments of
excitement.

A carriage, better appointed than the owner, and a man-servant rather
less so, were waiting, and took us to Oak Mount. In the hall our host
apologized for the absence of Mrs. Andrewes, who was at the sea-side,
out of health.

"But Betty 'll do her best to make you comfortable, sir," he said to
my father, and turning to a middle-aged woman with a hard-featured,
sensible face, and very golden hair tightly braided to her head, who
was already busy with our luggage, he added, "You've got something for
us to eat, Betty, I suppose?"

"T' supper 'll be ready by you're ready for it," said Betty, when she
had finished her orders to the man who was taking our things upstairs.
"But when folks is come off on a journey, they'll be glad to wash
their 'ands, and I've took hot water into both their rooms."

The maid's familiarity startled me. Moreover, I fancied that for some
reason she was angry, judging by the form and manner of her reply; but
I have since learned that the ordinary answers of Scotch and Yorkshire
folk are apt to sound more like retorts than replies.

In the end I became very friendly with this good woman. Her real name,
I discovered, was not Betty. "They call me Alathea," she said, meaning
that that was her name, "but I've allus gone by the name of Betty."
From her I learnt all the particulars of my dear friend's l