work, or attend to the cows, the shippon, or
churn, or make cheese; she did all well, no
longer merrily, but with something of stern
cleverness. But she was not sorry when her
uncle one evening told her aunt and her that a
neighbouring farmer, Job Kirkby, had made him
an offer to take so much of his land off his
hands as would leave him only pasture enough
for two cows, and no arable to attend to; while
Farmer Kirkby did not wish to interfere with
anything in the house, only would be glad to use
some of the outbuildings for his fattening cattle.

"We can do wi' Hawky and Daisy; it'll
leave us eight or ten pound o' butter to take to
market i' summer time, and keep us fra' thinking
ing too much, which is what I'm dreading on as
I get into years."

"Ay," said his wife. "Thou'll not have to
go so far afield, if it's only the Aster-Toft as is on
thy hands. And Bess will have to gi' up her
pride i' cheese, and tak' to making cream-butter.
I'd allays a fancy for trying at cream-butter, but
th' whey had to be used; else, where I come fra,
they'd never ha' looked near whey-butter."

When Hester was left alone with Bessy, she
said, in allusion to this change of plan,

"I'm thankful to the Lord as it is as it is:
for I were allays feared Nathan would have to
gie up the house and farm altogether, and then
the lad would na' know where to find us when
he came back fra Merikay. He's gone there for
to make his fortune, I'll be bound. Keep up thy
heart, lass, he'll be home some day; and have
sown his wild oats. Eh! but thatten's a pretty
story i' the Gospels about the Prodigal who'd to
eat the pigs' vittle at one time, but ended i'
clover in his father's house. And I'm sure our
Nathan 'll be ready to forgive him, and love
him, and make much of him, mebby a deal more
nor me, who never gave in to's death. It 'll
be liken to a resurrection to our Nathan."

Farmer Kirkby then, took by far the greater
part of the land belonging to Nab-end Farm;
and the work about the rest, and about the two
remaining cows was easily done by three pairs
of willing hands with a little occasional assistance.
The Kirkby family were pleasant enough
to have to deal with. There was a son, a stiff, grave
bachelor, who was very particular and methodical
about his work, and rarely spoke to any
one. But Nathan took it into his head that
John Kirkby was looking after Bessy, and was
a good deal troubled in his mind in consequence;
for it was the first time he had to face the effects
of his belief in his son's death; and he
discovered to his own surprise that he had not
that implicit faith which would make it easy for
him to look upon Bessy as the wife of another
man than the one to whom she had been be
trothed in her youth. As, however, John Kirkby
seemed in no hurry to make his intentions (if
indeed he had any) clear to Bessy, it was only
at times that this jealousy on behalf of his lost
son seized upon Nathan.

But people, old, and in deep hopeless sorrow,
grow irritable at times, however they may
repent and struggle against their irritability.
There were days when Bessy had to bear a good
deal from her uncle; but she loved him so dearly
and respected him so much, that high as her
temper was to all other people she never
returned him a rough or impatient word. And
she had a reward in the conviction of his deep,
true affection for her, and in her aunt's entire
and most sweet dependence upon her.

One day, however—it was near the end of
November—Bessy had had a good deal to bear
that seemed more than usually unreasonable on
behalf of her uncle. The truth was, that one of
Kirkby's cows was ill, and John Kirkby was a
good deal about in the farm-yard; Bessy was
interested about the animal, and had helped in
preparing a mash over their own fire, that had to
be given warm to the sick creature. If John
had been out of the way, there would have been
no one more anxious about the affair than
Nathan; both because he was naturally kind-hearted
and neighbourly, and also because he was rather
proud of his reputation for knowledge in the
diseases of cattle. But because John was about,
and Bessy helping a little in what had to be
done, Nathan would do nothing, and chose to
assume that "nothing to think on ailed th' beast,
but lads and lasses were allays fain to be feared
on something." Now John was upwards of
forty, and Bessy nearly eight-and-twenty, so the
terms lads and lasses did not exactly apply to
their case.

When Bessy brought the milk in from their
own cows towards half-past five o'clock, Nathan
bade her make the doors, and not be running
out i' the dark and cold about other folk's
business; and, though Bessy was a little surprised
and a good deal annoyed at his tone, she sat
down to her supper without making a
remonstrance. It had long been Nathan's custom to
look out the last thing at night to see "what
mak' o' weather it wur;" and, when towards
half-past eight he got his stick and went out—
two or three steps from the door which opened
into the houseplace where they were sitting—
Hester put her hand on her niece's shoulder and
said:

"He's gotten a touch o' the rheumatics, as
twinges him and makes him speak so sharp. I
didna like to ask thee afore him, but how's yon
poor beast?"

"Very ailing, belike. John Kirkby wur off
for th' cow-doctor when I cam in. I'll reckon
they'll have to stop up wi't a' night."

Since their sorrows, her uncle had taken
to reading a chapter in the Bible aloud, the
last thing at night. He could not read fluently,
and often hesitated long over a word, which
he miscalled at length; but the very fact of
opening the book seemed to soothe those old
bereaved parents; for it made them feel quiet
and safe in the presence of God, and took
them out of the cares and troubles of this world
into that futurity which, however dim and vague,
was to their faithful hearts as a sure and certain
rest. This little quiet time—Nathan sitting with
his horn spectacles on; the tallow candle
between him and his Bible, and throwing a strong