He was his mother's darling, although she
loved Susan well. There was no positive
engagement between Michael and Susan— I
doubt if even plain words of love had been
spoken; when one winter-time Margaret
Dixon was seized with inflammation
consequent upon a neglected cold. She had
always been strong and notable, and had
been too busy to attend to the earliest
symptoms of illness. It would go off, she
said to the woman who helped in the kitchen;
or if she did not feel better when they had got
the hams and bacon out of hand, she would
take some herb-tea and nurse up a bit. But
Death could not wait till the hams and
bacon were cured: he came on with rapid
strides, and shooting arrows of portentous
agony Susan had never seen illness— never
knew how much she loved her mother till
now, when she felt a dreadful instinctive
certainty that she was losing her. Her mind
was thronged with recollections of the many
times she had slighted her mother's wishes;
her heart was full of the echoes of careless
and angry replies that she had spoken.
What would she not now give to have
opportunities of service and obedience, and trials
of her patience and love for that dear mother
who lay gasping in torture! And yet Susan
had been a good girl and an affectionate
daughter.

The sharp pain went off, and delicious ease
came on; yet still her mother sunk. In the
midst of this languid peace she was dying.
She motioned Susan to her bedside, for she
could only whisper; and then, while the
father was out of the room, she spoke as
much to the eager, hungering eyes of her
daughter by the motion of her lips, as by
the slow feeble sounds of her voice.

"Susan, lass, thou must not fret. It is
God's will, and thou wilt have a deal to do.
Keep father straight if thou canst; and if he
goes out Ulverstone ways, see that thou
meet him before he gets to the Old Quarry.
It's a dree bit for a man who has had a
drop. As for lile Will "— here the poor
woman's face began to work and her fingers
to move nervously as they lay on the
bedquilt— '"lile Will will miss me most of all.
Father's often vexed with him because he's
not a quick, strong lad; he is not, my poor
lile chap. And father thinks he's saucy,
because he cannot always stomach oat-cake
and porridge. There's better than three
pound in th' old black teapot on the top
shelf of the cupboard. Just keep a piece of
loaf-bread by you, Susan dear, for Will to
come to when he's not taken his breakfast.
I have, may be, spoilt him; but there'll be
no one to spoil him now."

She began to cry a low feeble cry, and
covered up her face that Susan might not see
her. That dear face! those precious moments
while yet the eyes could look out with love
and intelligence. Susan laid her head down
close by her mother's ear.

"Mother, I'll take tent of Will. Mother,
do you hear?  He shall not want ought I
can give or get for him, least of all the kind
words which you had ever ready for us both.
Bless you! bess you! my own mother."

"Thou'lt promise me that, Susan, wilt
thou?  I can die easy if thou'lt take charge
of him. But he's hardly like other folk;
he tries father at times, though I think
father'll be tender of him when I'm gone,
for my sake. And, Susan, there's one thing
more. I never spoke on it for fear of the
bairn being called a tell-tale, but I just comforted
him up. He vexes Michael at times,
and Michael has struck him before now. I
did not want to make a stir; but he's not
strong, and a word from thee, Susan, will go
a long way with Michael."

Susan was as red now as she had been pale
before; it was the first time that her
influence over Michael had been openly
acknowledged by a third person, and a flash of joy
came athwart the solemn sadness of the
moment. Her mother had spoken too much,
and now came on the miserable faintness.
She never spoke again coherently; but when
her children and her husband stood by her
bedside, she took lile Will's hand and put
it into Susan's, and looked at her with
imploring eyes. Susan clasped her arms round
Will, and leaned her head upon his curly
pate, and vowed to herself to be as a mother
to him.

Henceforward she was all in all to her
brother. She was a more spirited and
amusing companion to him than his mother
had been, from her greater activity, and perhaps
also from her originality of character, which
often prompted her to perform her habitual
actions in some new and racy manner. She
was tender to lile Will when she was prompt
and sharp with everybody else- with Michael
most of all; for somehow the girl felt that,
unprotected by her mother, she must keep
up her own dignity, and not allow her lover
to see how strong a hold he had upon her
heart. He called her hard and cruel, and
left her so; and she smiled softly to herself
when his back was turned to think how
little he guessed how deeply he was loved.
For Susan was merely comely and fine-looking;
Michael was strikingly handsome, admired
by all the girls for miles round, and
quite enough of a country coxcomb to know
it and plume himself accordingly. He was
the second son of his father; the eldest would
have High Beck farm, of course, but there was
a good penny in the Kendal bank in store for
Michael. When harvest was over, he went
to Chapel Langdale to learn to dance; and
at night, in his merry moods, he would do
his steps on the flag-floor of the Yew Nook
kitchen, to the secret admiration of Susan, who
had never learned dancing, but who flouted
him perpetually, even while she admired,
in accordance with the rule she seemed
to have made for herself about keeping him