On the high-backed settle near the fire-place sprawled Ezra Dawson, the Robsons' shepherd, a great soldierly figure in corduroys. A drooping eyelid marred his handsome face, half obscuring his twinkling left eye in a perpetual wink. He was holding forth to a young farmer who stood sheepishly near the table.
"Noo, lad, tha may be a clever fellow." The men on the far bench snorted incredulously. "Ah'm not saying tha is, but taking it for a parable like. Tha may be a clever fellow, but if tha marries a fool she'll ruin tha. And if tha's a fool and weds a clever lass wi' a good hand for pastry, who feeds lads well and keeps in wi' gentry and dealers, tha's fair fettled up and mebbe'll find tha self a rich man some day."
"Then mun I marry a clever woman?" asked the boy.
"Noo, lad, ah wouldn't go so far as to say that. If tha' marries a good-for-nowt,'un she'll ruin tha, but if tha weds a clever lass folks'll give her all credit and call thee a fool."
Bert frowned anxiously.
"Then what am I to wed?"
"Stay single, Bert," advised another voice from the doorway. It came from a short, red-bearded man who had not yet spoken. "Stay single an' tha'll never have cause to rue."
"But if ah'm single ah'll have to get a housekeeper. Our Liza says she can't stay with me much longer." Bert was genuinely anxious to profit by their counsel.
"Noo then, Shep," laughed another, "who'd you say he ought to get as housekeeper, a clever lass or a fool?"
Dawson turned slowly.