low; and unlike the tumultuous and volcanic methods of
John, his genius disposed him to a courtship of most tardy development,
most gradual ripening. To propose while a doubt existed of the answer
struck him as a proceeding almost beyond the bounds of man's audacity.
He told himself that time would surely show what chance or hope there
might be, and that opportunity must be left to sneak from the battle at
any moment when ultimate failure became too certainly indicated. In more
sanguine moods, however, by moonlight, or alone on the high moors,
greater bravery and determination awoke in him. At such times he would
decide to purchase new clothes and take thought for externals generally.
He also planned some studies in such concerns as pleased women if he
could learn what they might be. His first deliberate if half-hearted
attack relied for its effect upon a novel. Books, indeed, are priceless
weapons in the armory of your timid lover; and let but the lady discover
a little reciprocity, develop an unsuspected delight in literature, as
often happens, and the most modest volume shall achieve a practical
result as far beyond its intrinsic merit as above the writer's dream.

Martin, then, primed with a work of fiction, prayed that Chris might
prove a reader of such things, and called at Mrs. Blanchard's cottage
exactly one fortnight after his former visit. Chance favoured him to an
extent beyond his feeble powers to profit by. Will was out for a walk,
and Mrs. Blanchard being also from home, Martin enjoyed conversation
with Chris alone. He began well enough, while she listened and smiled.
Then he lost his courage and lied, and dragging the novel from his
pocket, asserted that he had bought the tale for her brother.

"A story-book! I doubt Will never read no such matter in his life, Mr.
Grimbal."

"But get him to try. It's quite a new thing. There's a poaching
adventure and so forth--all very finely done according to the critical
journals."

"He'll never sit down to that gert buke."

"You read it then, and tell him if it is good."

"Me! Well, I do read now and again, an' stories tu; but Will wouldn't
take my word. Now if Phoebe was to say 't was braave readin', he'd go
for it fast enough."

"I may leave it, at any rate?"

"Leave it, an' thank you kindly."

"How is Will getting on?"

"Quite well again. Awnly riled 'cause Mr. Lyddon lies so low. Clem told
us what the miller can do, but us doan't knaw yet what he will