ll be a nice time o' year,' said Sylvia, a little surprised at
Kester's evident discouragement at the prospect of the journey or
absence; he had often been away from Monkshaven for a longer time
without seeming to care so much about it.

'Well, yo' see it's a bit hard upon me for t' leave my sister--she
as is t' widow-woman, wheere a put up when a'm at home. Things is
main an' dear; four-pound loaves is at sixteenpence; an' there's a
deal o' talk on a famine i' t' land; an' whaten a paid for my
victual an' t' bed i' t' lean-to helped t' oud woman a bit,--an'
she's sadly down i' t' mouth, for she cannot hear on a lodger for t'
tak' my place, for a' she's moved o'er to t' other side o' t' bridge
for t' be nearer t' new buildings, an' t' grand new walk they're
makin' round t' cliffs, thinkin' she'd be likelier t' pick up a
labourer as would be glad on a bed near his work. A'd ha' liked to
ha' set her agait wi' a 'sponsible lodger afore a'd ha' left, for
she's just so soft-hearted, any scamp may put upon her if he nobbut
gets houd on her blind side.'

'Can I help her?' said Sylvia, in her eager way. 'I should be so
glad; and I've a deal of money by me---'

'Nay, my lass,' said Kester, 'thou munnot go off so fast; it were
just what I were feared on i' tellin' thee. I've left her a bit o'
money, and I'll mak' shift to send her more; it's just a kind word,
t' keep up her heart when I'm gone, as I want. If thou'd step in and
see her fra' time to time, and cheer her up a bit wi' talkin' to her
on me, I'd tak' it very kind, and I'd go off wi' a lighter heart.'

'Then I'm sure I'll do it for yo', Kester. I niver justly feel like
mysel' when yo're away, for I'm lonesome enough at times. She and I
will talk a' t' better about yo' for both on us grieving after yo'.'

So Kester took his leave, his mind set at ease by Sylvia's promise
to go and see his sister pretty often during his absence in the
North.

But Sylvia's habits were changed since she, as a girl at
Haytersbank, liked to spend half her time in the open air, running
out perpetually without anything on to scatter crumbs to the
poultry, or to take a piece of bread to the old cart-horse, to go up
to the garden for a handful of herbs, or to clamber to the highest
point around to blow the horn which summoned her father and Kester
home to dinner. Living in a town where it was necessary to put on
hat and cloak before going out into the street, and then to walk in
a steady a