mind, mother,' I says, 'there's
neither man nor beast'ud hurt little Phebe.' You'd enjoy painting my
prize-pigs, I know; and there'd be plenty o' time. Wouldn't you now?"

"Very much," she said, "if I have time."

"That's something to look forward to," he continued. "I'm always
thinking what you'd like to paint, and make a picture of. I should like
to be painted myself, and mother; and there'll be plenty o' time. For
I'm not a man to see you overdone with work, Phebe. I've been thinking
about it for the last five year, ever since you were a pretty young
lass of fifteen. 'She'll be a good girl,' mother said, 'and if old
Marlowe dies before you're wed, Simon, you'd best marry Phebe.' I've put
it off, Phebe, over and over again, when there's been girls only waiting
the asking; and now I'm glad I can bring you comfort. There's a home all
ready for you, with cows and poultry for you to manage and get the good
of, for mother always has the butter money and the egg money, and you'll
have it now. And there's stores of linen, mother says, and everything
that any farmer's wife could desire."

Phebe laughed, a low, gentle, musical laugh, which had surprise in it,
but no derision. The sight of the gaunt embarrassed man opposite to her,
his face burning red, and his clumsy hands twisting and untwisting as he
uttered his persuasive sentences, drove her sadness away for the moment.
Her pleasant, surprised laugh made him laugh too.

"Ay! mother was right; she always is," said Nixey, rubbing his great
hands gleefully. "'There'll be scores of lads after her,' says mother,
'for old Marlowe has piles o' money in Sefton's Old Bank, everybody
knows that.' But, Phebe, there aren't a many houses like mine for you to
step right into. I'm glad I came to bring you comfort to-night."

"But father lost all his money in the Old Bank nine months ago,"
answered Phebe.

"Lost all his money!" repeated Nixey slowly and emphatically. There was
a deep silence in the little house, while he gazed at her with open
mouth and astonished eyes. Phebe had covered her face with her hands,
forgetting him and everything else in the recollection of that bitter
sorrow of hers nine months ago; worse than her sorrow now. Nixey spoke
again after a few minutes, in a husky and melancholy voice.

"It shan't make no difference, Phebe," he said; "I came to bring you
comfort, and I'll not take it away again. There they all are for you,
linen and pigs, and cows and poult