'Well, now he'll be seein' after his shop, a reckon?'
Sylvia was calling to the old mare nibbling tufts of early-springing grass here and there, and half unconsciously coaxing the creature to come up to the gate to be stroked. But she heard Kester's words well enough, and so he saw, although she made this excuse not to reply. But Kester was not to be put off.
'Folks is talkin' about thee and him; thou'll ha' to mind lest thee and him gets yo'r names coupled together.'
'It's right down cruel on folks, then,' said she, crimsoning from some emotion. 'As if any man as was a man wouldn't do all he could for two lone women at such a time—and he a cousin, too! Tell me who said so,' continued she, firing round at Kester, 'and I'll niver forgive 'em—that's all.'
'Hoots!' said Kester, a little conscious that he himself was the principal representative of that name of multitude folk. 'Here's a pretty lass; she's' got "a'll niver forgi'e" at her tongue's end wi' a vengeance.'
Sylvia was a little confused.
'Oh, Kester, man,' said she, 'my heart is sore again' every one, for feyther's sake.'
And at length the natural relief of plentiful tears came; and Kester, with instinctive wisdom, let her weep undisturbed; indeed, he cried not a little himself. They were interrupted by Philip's voice from the back-door.
'Sylvie, your mother's awake, and wants you!'
'Come, Kester, come,' and taking hold of him she drew him with her into the house.