"Ay, Passon, that we be!" rejoined Bainton, with a smile—"An' please the Lord, we'll soon get from the gold into the blue, an' from the blue into the rose! For that's allus the way o' the year,— first little white shaky blossoms wot's a bit afraid of theirselves, lest the frost should nip 'em,—and then the deep an' the pale an' the bright gold blossoms, which just laughs at dull weather—an' then the blue o' the forget-me-nots an' wood-bells,—an' the red o' the roses to crown all. An' mebbe," he continued, with a shrewd upward glance at his master's face—"when the roses come, there'll be a bit of orange-blossom to keep 'em company—-"
John started,—and then his kind smile, so warm and sunny and sweet, shone like a beam of light itself across his features.
"What, Bainton!" he said—"So you know all about it already!"
Bainton began to chuckle irrepressibly.
"Well, if the village ain't a liar from its one end to its t'otherest, then I knows!" he declared triumphantly—"Lord love ye, Passon, you don't s'pose ye can keep any secrets in this 'ere parish? They knows all about ye 'fore ye knows yerself!—an' Missis Spruce she came down from the Manor last night in such a state o' fluster as never was, an' she sez, all shakin' like an' smilin'— 'Miss Maryllia's goin' to be married,' sez she, an' we up an' sez to 'er—'What, is the Dook goin' to 'ave her just the same though she can't walk no more?' an' she sez: 'Dook, not a bit of it! There's a better man than any Dook close by an' it's 'im she's goin' to 'ave an' nobody else, an' it's Passon Walden,' sez she, an' with that we all gives a big shout, an' she busts out cryin' an' laughin' together, an' we all doos the same like the nesh fools we are when a bit o' news pleases us like,—an'—an'—-" Here Bainton's voice grew rather husky and tremulous as he proceeded—"so of course the news went right through the village two minutes arterwards. An' it's all we could do to keep from comin' up outside 'ere an' givin' ye a rousin' cheer 'fore goin' to bed, onny Mr. Netlips 'e said it wouldn't be 'commensurate,' wotever that is, so we just left it. Howsomever, I made up my mind I'd be the first to wish ye joy, Passon!—an' I wish it true!"
Silently Walden held out his hand. Bainton grasped it with affectionate respect in his own horny palm.
"Not that I'd 'ave ever thought you'd a' bin a marryin' man, Passon!" he averred, his shrewd eyes lighting up with the kindliest humour—"But it's never too late to mend!"
Walden laughed.
"That's true, Bainton! It's never too late to repent of one's follies and begin to be wise! Thank you for all your good wishes— they come from the heart, I know! But"—and his smile softened into an earnest gravity of expression—"they must be for her—for Miss Maryllia—not for me! I am already happier than I deserve—but she needs everyone's good thoughts and prayers to help her to bear her enforced helplessness—she is very brave—yet—it is hard—-"
He broke off, not trusting himself to say more.