hooken-snivey humbug, and you must not believe a quarter what he says. At first, such is his smooth tongue, you feel you 're the backbone of the farm and that he could n't do without you. But it is all craft. He only belauds you to make you work the harder. He don't beat the willing hoss, but he praises it, till it drops down dead trying to be worthy. A very cunning fashion of man and lazy as hell himself."

"Never does a stroke so far as I can see," murmured Batson.

"Mighty seldom, and when he do put his hand to a trifle, the farm rings with it, and he wonders all day long in his friendly voice how it is as he pays us and has to do the work himself!"

Thus gradually the new head man came to get a general notion of his master's method and practice, and the way of George Cleave both amused and angered him. He was angry that such a lazy being should exist and prosper on the face of the earth; he was amused in a dour fashion at the unfailing praise and applause the farmer paid him for his own achievements.

"God 's my judge, I don't know however I ran this place without you, Tom," he often said. "You 're a masterpiece, without a doubt, and you be got to be my right hand and the apple of my eye already."

It was not possible to be seriously annoyed with one who so generously praised; but later Mr. Batson began to find the truth of old Amos Tarleton's assertion that he was a humbug. Gradually, too, he perceived the crowning iniquity of the tyrant.

"His grip be tightening," he confessed to Amos. ""T is the steel claws in the velvet glove, as they say. I work so hard as ever; but he don't pour out his praise in such a torrent as he did. Always civil and all that, and often flashes out a thanksgiving I be here; but the gilt 's off the gingerbread, I reckon. He's seen what I can do at great moments, and he 'll see that I continue to do it always."

"The same with us all," said the elder. "When he once feels we be part of the farm, body and soul, forevermore, then he takes us for granted. But there 't is; he 's a very clever man,

though a driver. They be all drivers for that matter,-farmers, I mean,and while the money 's good, I 'd so soon serve him as another. You 've got to mind also the food be a bit above the common quality here. We must grant that."

"Thanks to Miss Cleave."

"For the cooking, yes; but masters often sit to one dish and put their servants to another. Cleave don't grudge us to share and share alike. And when all 's said, you 'll never catch him treating the least of us quite so hard as he do his own flesh and blood."

"No, nor yet his plow hoss," said Thomas. "If anything could make me quarrel with the man 't would be his scorn of his daughter. He won't even let her have a maiden under her, and seems to think she 's like a turnipcutter and you 've only got to turn the handle for her to work and never tire."

"You do feel that with Miss Cleave," said Tarleton. "She 's so much of a machine that you forget she's a human soul also. There 's lots like that."

"Machine or not, she 's the light of the house to any but a blind man."

"In a way; but no more account than a candle in a candlestick. I'm sorry for her, nevertheless. She's a very good, faithful creature to her father, and but for her affliction might—”

"What affliction?" asked Thomas.

"Her port-wine mark, I mean. That purple shadow down her cheek. In a manner of speaking, I don't think master ever forgave her for having that. He felt it a slight on himself, silly man. But none the less, as he 've whispered to me more than once, 't was a blessing in disguise for him, because now he 's got her safe at his elbow forevermore, and she'll see him out and keep him in comfort and luxury to the end."

"Unless she drops down dead herself some day from working too hard," said Mr. Batson. "He puts a very great strain upon her and may live to see her go scat under it."

"She don't complain, however." "There's nobody to complain to. It 's her doom, and a very bad mark against her father, in my opinion."

"Yet all the other women think the world of George Cleave," declared

Amos. They like him for his red face and merry eye and quick tongue." "Master be a great ladies' man seemingly."

"Safety in numbers. But 't is all his craft. He'll not wed again. His daughter does all he wants that a woman can do. No other female would work like she does, because she gives him her sleepless service for naught. A wife might give all, but she 'd want something back, if 't was only a little ready money and an outing now and again. But neither money nor outing do Nancy ever get from the man."

"Why don't she make a fuss about it and open his eyes?" asked Thomas. "I feel properly vexed for the poor creature sometimes."

"You'll get used to it. She ain't unhappy nor nothing like that. It 's her life. She don't know nothing different and don't expect no better. If you look out at the world through a port-wine mark, Thomas, it takes its own dark color, I reckon, and such afflicted people must n't expect to have so nice a time as others. 'T is the will of God, and no doubt He'll make it up to 'em in the next world and help 'em to forget what a beastly fate they had in this one."

"Be blessed if I see anything so very terrible about the scar," said Thomas.

"Ah, my dear, that 's easy to say; but you ax her. She knows what it means and how it robs her of what other women get."

""T is only an accident of the outside."

"But it works into them as suffers it. It chastens a woman's soul. I don't say such a thing always ruins character, but it well might."

"She's got a very kind character." "She have, and all the more credit to her. She 's patient, and she 'll carry her crosses to her grave without complaining. And when her father dies, if he goes first, she 'll certainly lose one of 'em, and live, no doubt, in ease for the rest of her days."

Within a week of this conversation Thomas Batson was under notice to quit Falcon Farm. It happened unexpectedly for him, but he had only himself to thank. He was an independent

being and found, to his own surprise, that the situation, though none of his business, forced itself upon him and presently possessed his mind to the loss of comfort. That he should thus be thinking so often of what did not concern him mildly astonished Thomas, and that the welfare of a woman, and such a mournful specimen of a woman as Nancy Cleave, could thus challenge his indignation surprised him not a little; but she persisted in his thoughts. and would not be banished. He found himself desirous to better her lot; he even spoke with her, indicated that she was worked too hard, and astonished her by showing some vague suggestion of sympathy. He cleaned rabbits for her and did various other disagreeable little tasks that none had ever offered to do before. And for his reward he marked the first blank doubt and frank amazement in her eyes change to a startled gratitude. She reacted slowly. For a time it seemed that she was powerless to grasp the extraordinary circumstance of his casual consideration; but when she did, Nancy responded to such unimaginable friendship and did what she might to increase Mr. Batson's own comfort.

Then on a day when George Cleave declared himself ill and sat in the house-place and drove Nancy nearly desperate with the ceaseless chores he put upon her, Thomas found his tongue and even dared to take the master to task.

It was the first time that they had differed openly, and Mr. Cleave, quite forgetting the "tissick" in his chest, listened round-eyed, while his pipe went out and his hot rum and water grew cold. He was not more surprised than Thomas himself, for never before had the latter championed a woman or found the name of one upon his tongue.

But, once off, he kept to his theme, and while Nancy had gone out to tramp to Ashburton, because her father decided that he must have a bottle of brown sherry and a linseed poultice, the head man, now established for six months, spoke his mind in a slow and grating voice that rose and fell monotonously on no more than three notes.

"You'll excuse me if I say some

thing," he began. ""T is about Miss Nancy Cleave, and I do assure you that outsiders, seeing most of the game as they will, think that you properly manangle that woman and make her do the work of three in this here house. You say you done the work of ten in your palmy days, master, so perhaps you be content to see her toil so terrible hard; but you 're wrong in my opinion, and if I may humbly say so without offense and in a friendly spirit, you put far too much upon her. She don't know how other women fare, being cooped here day and night, and no doubt she thinks that they all be called to labor same as her; but you know different, and you know that if Mrs. May Smerdon, for one, had any idea how your daughter was called to moil and toil for us four men and a boy, she 'd tell you 't was n't fair or Christian and did ought to be altered."

He stopped a moment. "Go on," said Mr. Cleave. "You say all you 've got to say, Thomas. I'll answer, if you 'll allow me."

Then

Batson proceeded. He had never spoken at such length in his life and was surprised to find that words, which were not bent to his purpose easily as a rule, came fast as snowflakes in a storm. He warmed to his work, and made a very telling case for Nancy. He concluded with a hope that Mr. Cleave would take his strictures in a large spirit as man to man and feel no malice or resentment.

"Most certainly," began the master, lighting his pipe and apparently unangered. "It 's a free country, and a man has a right to say his say to a fellow-man if he thinks it is his duty to do so. And woman, likewise, has a right to her opinions within the limit of reason and sense. I should be very sorry if any of you chaps stopped with me or was doomed to my tyrant ways longer than your convenience and comfort, Thomas Batson. Because as I said, for man or woman, praise God, this be a free country. But it cuts both ways, don't it?"

"That 's all right, master. We could go if we was wishful to do so; but a man's daughter 's different. She can't go very well, can she?"

"She cannot," admitted Mr. Cleave. "And I've yet to hear as she 's got any ideas in that direction. But you can, Thomas. "T is within your power to go, and well within mine to wish it. And I do wish it. I'm wishing it something tremendous at this moment. In a word, fine chap though you are and a willing worker, with a good method and all worthy of my praise, which you 've had,-I 'm fed up with you now, so we 'll part Monday month, if you please. And delighted I shall be, Thomas, to give you a right-down good character so far as your work 's concerned."

Mr. Batson had not expected this.
"D' you mean it, master?”

"I do, my dear. A great loss, because with a man like me, old before his age along of working too hard for half a century, it was a nice thing to feel I'd got a right hand in you worthy of the name. You be the pattern of a good useful sort that 's dying out, worse luck. But a meddlesome creature, such as pokes in where he did n't ought, be very much against the grain with me, and to think you know better how to treat a grown-up daughter than what I do and you a bachelor, if you told me truth-throws a harsh light upon one side of your character, Thomas, and makes me see you ain't got enough work to do in this little place. You must go and seek bigger and harder labor, my son-labor that will not leave you time for thrusting between parent and child, which is a place where sensible angels would n't dare to tread. I'm sure you meant well. You 're the most well-meaning man ever I met after myself; but we sha'n't suit each other no more; so by your leave we 'll part friends o' Monday month."

George Cleave smiled and, rising, I went to the kettle for more hot water.

"The talk be at an end now," he said, "and I'll ask you not to return to the subject, Thomas. Both me and my God 's very well satisfied with the way I brought up my daughter, and so 's she; and if there 's anything as I can do to make her life a happier thing for her, rest assured she 'll ax me herself. She knows that she 's the master jewel

for me, though she 'll never know all I've done for her, because no child ever does know the height and depth of a good father's love."

"Monday month then, master."
"If you please, Thomas."

Then Batson went out into stinging March rain and gathering dusk. The woods of Buckland were gray under the gloaming, and a great wind panted. and roared over the granite crown of the Beacon above. He considered with himself. Nothing called to be done, for his day's work was ended, but he remembered that the innocent cause of this unexpected revolution in his life must now be returning up a long hill from the market town. He was in a state as perturbed as it was possible for such a stolid spirit to be. He decided that he would take his big umbrella and go and meet Nancy.

""T will amaze her above a bit," reflected Mr. Batson. "I'll cut the ground from under that oily-tongued old devil and tell her I be going myself."

He set out, and met Nancy toiling upward through the coarse weather. She was laden with parcels, and stared when Thomas took all but the bottle from her arms, and unfurled his big green umbrella over her.

"I be bone-wet as 't is," she said. "What matter?"

"I had a good reason in my judgment. I'm sorry to say, Miss Cleave, as I be going to leave Falcon Farm. It have fallen with a terrible rush upon me and my fault, too. But I had a fancy as I'd like to tell you myself. The master 's sacked me, and every right to do so without a doubt."

Nancy stood still, and the bottle in the blue paper trembled.

"Going-you? Never!"
"Monday month."

"Why for? Whatever have you gone and done, Mr. Batson? You was grown to be father's pride a'ready. He said it in a hundred ears."

"I've done a very difficult and dangerous thing, and it have n't gone right. Can't tell you what it was, unfortunately; but I meant well. No doubt he'll get somebody he likes. better. I'm properly sorry myself." "This be a cruel come-along-of-it,"

she said mournfully. "I could n't have heard anything to trouble me inore. You was the bestest of 'em."

"Thank you very much for them kind words, Miss Cleave. We've been good friends, I believe. And why not?" "I shall speak to my father."

"Don't you do that. He was right, no doubt, from his point of view. Not that I'll allow his point of view was the best, however.

"Why can't you tell what it was? If you want to stop; but perhaps you don't?"

"I never thought to go. 'T is all I wish it here, and I felt quite content." "We never know our luck," she said drearily. "Not you, but-me."

"To his intense amazement Mr. Batson marked a tear on Nancy's cheek. He thought it must be the rain; but it was not. She shook her head impatiently, and turned it away from him. He had remarked the phenomenon, however, and if a small fire can kindle a great one, so surely may a drop of water swell into a river. At any rate, a sluggish river of emotion began to run through the heart of Thomas. He said what came into his head.

"You 're a woman of very high qualities, and I see 'em, and you be a good bit undervalued here, and I ain't the only one as understands it. You 're the light of the house, but 't was left for others to find that out seeminglynot your father."

"I'm naught and less than naught; yet I'm very pleased to have pleasured you, I'm sure."

"The light of the house," he repeated, "and 't is the light be far more to the purpose than the candlestick. I can speak to you straight and open, being ugly as sin myself and not ashamed of it. Because I did n't have the choosing of my mug, and my Maker did n't ax me what I 'd like to look like, come I grew up. But you 're a living lesson to other plain people in my opinion, and you show us commoner sort that 't is possible to make the inside so fine that no thinking man would care a damn about the outside."

She was not concerned with his philosophy. She had fastened on a question of fact.