`Don't you speak so, Miss,' said Bob, grasping the skin of Mumps's neck, `if there's anything I can do for you, I should look upon it as a day's earnings.'

`I want you to go to Dr Kenn's, and ask to speak to him, and tell him that I am here, and should be very grateful if he would come to me while my mother is away. She will not come back till evening.'

`Eh, Miss - I'd do it in a minute - it is but a step; but Dr Kenn's wife lies dead - she's to be buried tomorrow - died the day I come from Mudport. It's all the more pity she should ha' died just now, if you want him. I hardly like to go a-nigh him yet--'

`O, no, Bob,' said Maggie, `we must let it be - till after a few days, perhaps - when you hear that he is going about again. But perhaps he may be going out of town - to a distance,' she added, with a new sense of despondency at this idea.

`Not he, Miss,' said Bob. `He'll none go away. He isn't one o' them gentlefolks as go to cry at waterin' places when their wives die: he's got summat else to do. He looks fine an' sharp after the parish - he does. He christened the little 'un; an' he was at me to know what I did of a Sunday, as I didn't come to church. But I told him I was upo' the travel three parts o' the Sundays - An' then I'm so used to bein' on my legs, I can't sit so long on end - "an' lors, sir," says I, "a packman can do wi' a small 'lowance o' church: it tastes strong," says I; "there's no call to lay it on thick." Eh, Miss, how good the little un is wi' you! It's like as if it knowed you: it partly does, I'll be bound - like the birds know the mornin'.'

Bob's tongue was now evidently loosed from its unwonted bondage, and might even be in danger of doing more work than was required of it. But the subjects on which he longed to be informed were so steep and difficult of approach that his tongue was likely to run on along the level rather than to carry him on that unbeaten road. He felt this, and was silent again for a little while, ruminating much on the possible forms in which he might put a question. At last he said, in a more timid voice than usual,

`Will you give me leave to ask you only one thing, Miss?'

Maggie was rather startled, but she answered, `Yes, Bob, if it is about myself - not about any one else.'

`Well, Miss, it's this: Do you owe anybody a grudge?'

`No, not any one,' said Maggie, looking up at him inquiringly. `Why?'

`O lors, Miss,' said Bob, pinching Mumps's neck harder than ever, `I wish you did - an' 'ud tell me - I'd leather him till I couldn't see - I would - an' the Justice might do what he liked to me arter.'

`O Bob,' said Maggie, smiling faintly. `You're a very good friend to me. But I shouldn't like to punish any one, even if they'd done me wrong - I've done wrong myself too often.'

This view of things was puzzling to Bob and threw more obscurity than ever over what could possibly have happened between Stephen and Maggie. But further questions would have been too intrusive, even if he could have framed them suitably, and he was obliged to carry baby away again to an expectant mother.

`Happen you'd like Mumps for company, Miss,' he said, when he had taken the baby again. `He's rare company - Mumps is - he knows iverything, an' makes no bother about it. If I tell him, he'll lie before you an' watch you - as still - just as he watches my pack. You'd better let me leave him a bit - he'll get fond on you. Lors, it's a fine thing to hev a dumb brute fond on you; it'll stick to you, an' make no jaw.'

`Yes, do leave him, please,' said Maggie. `I think I should like to have Mumps for a friend.'

`Mumps, lie down there,' said Bob, pointing to a place in front of Maggie, `an' niver do you stir till you're spoke to.'