r's help in
his time o' need. I've heard feyther say as spirits cannot rest i'
their graves for trying to undo t' wrongs they've done i' their
bodies.'

'Them's my conclusions,' said Kester, solemnly. 'A was fain for to
hear what were yo'r judgments first; but them's the conclusions I
comed to as soon as I heard t' tale.'

'Let alone that one thing,' said Sylvia, 'he were a kind, good man.'

'It were a big deal on a "one thing", though,' said Kester. 'It just
spoilt yo'r life, my poor lass; an' might ha' gone near to spoilin'
Charley Kinraid's too.'

'Men takes a deal more nor women to spoil their lives,' said Sylvia,
bitterly.

'Not a' mak' o' men. I reckon, lass, Philip's life were pretty well
on for bein' spoilt at after he left here; and it were, mebbe, a
good thing he got rid on it so soon.'

'I wish I'd just had a few kind words wi' him, I do,' said Sylvia,
almost on the point of crying.

'Come, lass, it's as ill moanin' after what's past as it 'ud be for
me t' fill my eyes wi' weepin' after t' humbugs as this little wench
o' thine has grubbed up whilst we'n been talkin'. Why, there's not
one on 'em left!'

'She's a sad spoilt little puss!' said Sylvia, holding out her arms
to the child, who ran into them, and began patting her mother's
cheeks, and pulling at the soft brown curls tucked away beneath the
matronly cap. 'Mammy spoils her, and Hester spoils her----'

'Granny Rose doesn't spoil me,' said the child, with quick,
intelligent discrimination, interrupting her mother's list.

'No; but Jeremiah Foster does above a bit. He'll come in fro' t'
Bank, Kester, and ask for her, a'most ivery day. And he'll bring her
things in his pocket; and she's so fause, she allays goes straight
to peep in, and then he shifts t' apple or t' toy into another. Eh!
but she's a little fause one,'--half devouring the child with her
kisses. 'And he comes and takes her a walk oftentimes, and he goes
as slow as if he were quite an old man, to keep pace wi' Bella's
steps. I often run upstairs and watch 'em out o' t' window; he
doesn't care to have me with 'em, he's so fain t' have t' child all
to hisself.'

'She's a bonny un, for sure,' said Kester; 'but not so pretty as
thou was, Sylvie. A've niver tell'd thee what a come for tho', and
it's about time for me t' be goin'. A'm off to t' Cheviots to-morrow
morn t' fetch home some sheep as Jonas Blundell has purchased. It'll
be a job o' better nor two months a reckon.'

'It'