‘Of course she must,’ replied my sister, ‘it will be impossible for her to help it.’

‘Ah well! I don’t know,’ for I wanted more assurance of it. ‘Maidens are such wondrous things!’’

‘Not a bit of it,’ said Annie, casting her bright eyes downwards: ‘love is as simple as milking, when people know how to do it. But you must not let her alone too long; that is my advice to you. What a simpleton you must have been not to tell me long ago. I would have made Lorna wild about you, long before this time, Johnny. But now you go into the parlour, dear, while I do your collop. Faith Snowe is not come, but Polly and Sally. Sally has made up her mind to conquer you this very blessed evening, John. Only look what a thing of a scarf she has on; I should be quite ashamed to wear it. But you won’t strike poor Tom, will you?’

‘Not I, my darling, for your sweet sake.’

And so dear Annie, having grown quite brave, gave me a little push into the parlour, where I was quite abashed to enter after all I had heard about Sally. And I made up my mind to examine her well, and try a little courting with her, if she should lead me on, that I might be in practice for Lorna. But when I perceived how grandly and richly both the young damsels were apparelled; and how, in their curtseys to me, they retreated, as if I were making up to them, in a way they had learned from Exeter; and how they began to talk of the Court, as if they had been there all their lives, and the latest mode of the Duchess of this, and the profile of the Countess of that, and the last good saying of my Lord something; instead of butter, and cream, and eggs, and things which they understood; I knew there must be somebody in the room besides Jasper Kebby to talk at.

And so there was; for behind the curtain drawn across the window-seat no less a man than Uncle Ben was sitting half asleep and weary; and by his side a little girl very quiet and very watchful. My mother led me to Uncle Ben, and he took my hand without rising, muttering something not over-polite, about my being bigger than ever. I asked him heartily how he was, and he said, ‘Well enough, for that matter; but none the better for the noise you great clods have been making.’

‘I am sorry if we have disturbed you, sir,’ I answered very civilly; ‘but I knew not that you were here even; and you must allow for harvest time.’

‘So it seems,’ he replied; ‘and allow a great deal, including waste and drunkenness. Now (if you can see so small a thing, after emptying flagons much larger) this is my granddaughter, and my heiress’—here he glanced at mother—’my heiress, little Ruth Huckaback.’

‘I am very glad to see you, Ruth,’ I answered, offering her my hand, which she seemed afraid to take, ‘welcome to Plover’s Barrows, my good cousin Ruth.’

However, my good cousin Ruth only arose, and made me a curtsey, and lifted her great brown eyes at me, more in fear, as I thought, than kinship. And if ever any one looked unlike the heiress to great property, it was the little girl before me.

‘Come out to the kitchen, dear, and let me chuck you to the ceiling,’ I said, just to encourage her; ‘I always do it to little girls; and then they can see the hams and bacon.’ But Uncle Reuben burst out laughing; and Ruth turned away with a deep rich colour.

‘Do you know how old she is, you numskull?’ said Uncle Ben, in his dryest drawl; ‘she was seventeen last July, sir.’

‘On the first of July, grandfather,’ Ruth whispered, with her back still to me; ‘but many people will not believe it.’