ock
about the things. The stock must go. The sheep will fetch summat--and
there's two fine young heifers, beside the milch cows.'

Three hundred pounds looked an enormous sum in the eyes of the
Somersetshire maiden, but she was determined to make an appeal to the
hard-hearted young Squire.

Binegar was some miles from the hamlet of Upton, where Bishop's Farm
stood; but Bryda was well used to long rambles over hill and dale, and
she ran up to her room full of her scheme.

'I will tell no one--no, not even Bet,' she thought. 'They shall see for
once I can be of use. And then I will go to Bristol and see Mr Lambert,
and tell him I will come and be the useful girl about the place his
mother wants.'

Bryda took some pains with her appearance, as she stood before a little
glass, which gave but a distorted reflection of the fair face which
gazed into it.

Bryda exchanged her blue homespun skirt for a red camlet, a material
then much used for women's dress. It was made with short elbow sleeves,
and the bodice cut low. Over this Bryda pinned a white kerchief,
confining the ends at the waist with a silver buckle which had belonged
to her mother. Then she tied back her bright hair, which was the colour
of a cornfield rippling in the sunshine, with a blue ribbon, and perched
on the top of her pretty head a bonnet of Dunstable straw which would
have disguised most faces so ugly was its shape. But Bryda's face could
not lend itself to any disguise. Her luminous eyes seemed to shine the
brighter under the shadow of the peak. Her clear rose-and-white
complexion was set off by the clumsy knot of faded ribbon strings which
passed under the high crown of the bonnet was tied under Bryda's dimpled
chin, and defined its beautiful outline.

Thus equipped, Bryda stepped quietly downstairs, and went out at the
back door of the farm.

In the yard, on a barrel turned up for a seat, sat Silas the shepherd.

He was cutting huge slices of coarse bread with a clasp knife, and
crowding them into his mouth, with morsels of Cheddar cheese.

'I want to take one of the dogs for a walk, Silas. Which can you spare?'

'Neither,' was the short response.

'Oh, let me have one, Silas. Let me have Flick. Here, Flick, will you
come?'

'Where be thee going?'

'For a long walk, that's all.'

'You'll find it nearly broiling 'cross the hill. The old ewe died early
this morning. There's another loss for the master. But, lor', he's dazed
like. If I t