'And what are you two lasses doing in Ousebank alone and on foot?' he inquired.
'We've come to go up a ginnel,' said Horatia, her eyes twinkling.
Mr William Howroyd's twinkled in response. 'Eh, what, are you a Yorkshire lassie, then, that you talk so pat about ginnels? And what particular one do you want to go up—the ginnel against my mill?' he inquired.
'Oh, have you got a mill, and can I come and see it?' cried Horatia eagerly.
'Why, of course I've got a mill. Didn't Sarah tell you? Surely you weren't coming to Ousebank without coming to see me?' he inquired reproachfully. Then, seeing that Sarah coloured and looked rather ashamed, he half-guessed the truth, and turned quickly to another subject, and said, 'Come along, then, both of you.—This is not the grandest mill in Ousebank, Miss Cunningham, nor the largest. My brother Clay's is much bigger; but it's the oldest, and I like it best.'
'Oh, please, say Horatia,' she cried, as the three turned towards Howroyd's Mill.
'Horatia! Any relation to the great Nelson?' he inquired, looking kindly down on the eager young face smiling up at him.
'Yes; that's why I am called it; but I like Macaulay's Horatius best, so I pretend I am named after him.'
'What!
Then out spake brave Horatius ...
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers
And the temples of his gods?