ir order for tea she ushered them into the
parlour with a hospitable smile.

"I'll fetch tea in a minute," said she, "t' kettle's boilin' an' I've a
cake on the griddle just about fit."

When she had gone Toni turned two perplexed eyes on Herrick.

"Mr. Herrick, what does she mean? Does the cake fit the griddle, or
what?"

Herrick laughed lustily.

"Oh, you Londoner--you poor little Southern kid! Haven't you ever been
in Yorkshire--good old Yarkshire, as they call it--the country of tykes
and gees and men that can't be beat?"

"Oh, is that Yorkshire!" Toni coloured with excitement. "Mr. Herrick, my
father came from there! All his people did--but they're dead now, and
I've never been North!"

"Really?" He was to the full as much interested in the coincidence as
she. "Well, our good landlady is certainly a Yorkshire woman--and I hope
she'll give us a real Yorkshire tea!"

His hope was fulfilled when the buxom Mrs. Spencer returned, which she
speedily did. She carried a tray laden not only with cups and saucers,
but with an assortment of cakes which would have rejoiced the heart of a
Yorkshire child.

"Them's crud cheesecakes," said she, beaming on the pair, "an' these fat
rascals is to-day's bake--and the griddle cakes an' all." She laid the
table deftly. "I'll fetch the tea-pot and t' cream, and then ye can help
yersens."

When she put down the tea-pot, however, Herrick detained her with a
question.

"You don't belong to these parts, Mrs. Spencer?"

"No, sir." She shook her head blithely. "I'm a Yorkshire woman, praise
the pigs! Married a South-country man, I did--and often wished as I
'adn't--when 'e wur alive, that's to say."

"Since his demise you've altered your mind?"

"Well, he left me pretty well provided for," returned the late Spencer's
widow comfortably, "an' I won't say as 'e wur an out-an-out bad 'usband.
But somehow I can't abide South-country folk."

"They say we Yorkshire tykes are a rough lot," said Herrick, smiling,
and she took up the challenge at once.

"Oh, that's all my eye and Betty Martin," she returned in the vernacular
of her youth, "I grant you there's a lot of soft-sawder about the
fellers down here, but they ain't in it wi' us up in Yorkshire."

"Where do you come from, Mrs. Spencer? I'm a dalesman myself;
Wensleydale's my native land."

"I'm from Thirsk, sir. My mother was washerwoman to lots of the gentry
round, and my people still lives there, in a cottage on the Gre