hips, and they tell me he's registered 'A.B.,'
meaning able-bodied, so as t' Admirals can tell he hasn't lossen a
limb."

"Nay, it's 'B.A.,' and fowks wodn't call a lass like Mary Taylor
able-bodied; shoo's no more strength in her nor a kitlin."

"I reckon it's nowt to do wi' her body, isn't 'B.A.,'" interposed the
Colonel. "Shoo'll be one o' yon college lasses, an' they tell me they're
all foorced to put 'B.A.' at after their names."

"What for?" asked the smith, who was always suspicious of information
coming from the Colonel.

"Happen it'll be so as you can tell 'em thro' other fowks. It'll be same
as a farmer tar-marks his yowes wi' t' letters o' his name."

"Doesta mean that they tar-mark lasses like sheep?" asked William
Throup, his mouth agape with wonder.

"Nay, blether-heead," replied Stackhouse, "they'll be like t' specials,
and have t' letters on one o' them armlets. But doesta reckon, Colonel,
that B.A. stands for t' name o' t' chap that owns t' college?"

"Nay, they tell me that it stands for Bachelor of Arts, choose-what that
means."

The smith had listened to the Colonel's explanation of the mysterious
letters with growing scepticism. He had scarcely spoken, but an
attentive observer could have divined his state of mind by the short,
petulant blows he gave to the glowing horseshoe on the anvil. Now he
stopped in his work, rested his arms on his hammer-shaft, and proceeded,
after his fashion, to test the Colonel by questions.

"Doesta reckon, Colonel," he began, "that t' schooil-missus is a he-male
or a she-male?"

"Her's a she-male, o' course. What maks thee axe that?"

The smith brushed the query aside as though it had been a cinder, and
proceeded with his own cross-examination.

"An' doesta think that far-learnt fowks i' colleges can't tell a he-male
thro' a she-male as well as thee?"

"O' course they can. By t' mass, Jerry, what arta drivin' at?"

"An' hasta niver bin i' church, Colonel," the smith continued,
unperturbed, "when t' parson has put spurrins up? Why, 'twere nobbut a
week last Sunday sin he axed if onybody knew just cause or 'pediment why
Tom Pounder sudn't wed Anne Coates."

"I mind it, sure enough," interjected Stackhouse, "and fowks began to
girn, for they knew there was ivery cause an' 'pediment why he sud wed
her."

"Hod thy din! Besom-Joe, while I ve sattled wi' t' Colonel" said the
smith, and he turned once more on his man. "What I want to know is if
parson didn'