rgotten on the regular day. And
sometimes these articles lay in their dirty state in the untidy
kitchen, out of which a room, half parlour, half bedroom, opened on
one side, and a dairy, the only clean place in the house, at the
opposite. In face of you, as you entered the door, was the entrance
to the working-kitchen, or scullery. Still, in spite of disorder
like this, there was a well-to-do aspect about the place; the
Corneys were rich in their way, in flocks and herds as well as in
children; and to them neither dirt nor the perpetual bustle arising
from ill-ordered work detracted from comfort. They were all of an
easy, good-tempered nature; Mrs. Corney and her daughters gave every
one a welcome at whatever time of the day they came, and would just
as soon sit down for a gossip at ten o'clock in the morning, as at
five in the evening, though at the former time the house-place was
full of work of various kinds which ought to be got out of hand and
done with: while the latter hour was towards the end of the day,
when farmers' wives and daughters were usually--'cleaned' was the
word then, 'dressed' is that in vogue now. Of course in such a
household as this Sylvia was sure to be gladly received. She was
young, and pretty, and bright, and brought a fresh breeze of
pleasant air about her as her appropriate atmosphere. And besides,
Bell Robson held her head so high that visits from her daughter were
rather esteemed as a favour, for it was not everywhere that Sylvia
was allowed to go.

'Sit yo' down, sit yo' down!' cried Dame Corney, dusting a chair
with her apron; 'a reckon Molly 'll be in i' no time. She's nobbut
gone int' t' orchard, to see if she can find wind-falls enough for
t' make a pie or two for t' lads. They like nowt so weel for supper
as apple-pies sweetened wi' treacle, crust stout and leathery, as
stands chewing, and we hannot getten in our apples yet.'

'If Molly is in t' orchard, I'll go find her,' said Sylvia.

'Well! yo' lasses will have your conks' (private talks), 'a know;
secrets 'bout sweethearts and such like,' said Mrs. Corney, with a
knowing look, which made Sylvia hate her for the moment. 'A've not
forgotten as a were young mysen. Tak' care; there's a pool o' mucky
watter just outside t' back-door.'

But Sylvia was half-way across the back-yard--worse, if possible,
than the front as to the condition in which it was kept--and had
passed through the little gate into the orchard. It was full of o