and sought refuge behind his father’s legs. 

 “Ye gallows young dog,” said Sandy Jim, with some paternal pride, “if ye donna keep that stick quiet, I’ll tek it from ye. What dy’e mane by kickin’ foulks?” 

 “Here! Gie him here to me, Jim,” said Chad Cranage; “I’ll tie hirs up an’ shoe him as I do th’ hosses. Well, Mester Casson,” he continued, as that personage sauntered up towards the group of men, “how are ye t’ naight? Are ye coom t’ help groon? They say folks allays groon when they’re hearkenin’ to th’ Methodys, as if they war bad i’ th’ inside. I mane to groon as loud as your cow did th’ other naight, an’ then the praicher ’ull think I’m i’ th’ raight way.” 

 “I’d advise you not to be up to no nonsense, Chad,” said Mr. Casson, with some dignity; “Poyser wouldn’t like to hear as his wife’s niece was treated any ways disrespectful, for all he mayn’t be fond of her taking on herself to preach.” 

 “Aye, an’ she’s a pleasant-looked un too,” said Wiry Ben. “I’ll stick up for the pretty women preachin’; I know they’d persuade me over a deal sooner nor th’ ugly men. I shouldna wonder if I turn Methody afore the night’s out, an’ begin to coort the preacher, like Seth Bede.” 

 “Why, Seth’s looking rether too high, I should think,” said Mr. Casson. “This woman’s kin wouldn’t like her to demean herself to a common carpenter.” 

 “Tchu!” said Ben, with a long treble intonation, “what’s folks’s kin got to do wi’t? Not a chip. Poyser’s wife may turn her nose up an’ forget bygones, but this Dinah Morris, they tell me, ’s as poor as iver she was—works at a mill, an’s much ado to keep hersen. A strappin’ young carpenter as is a ready-made Methody, like Seth, wouldna be a bad match for her. Why, Poysers make as big a fuss wi’ Adam Bede as if he war a nevvy o’ their own.” 

 “Idle talk! idle talk!” said Mr. Joshua Rann. “Adam an’ Seth’s two men; you wunna fit them two wi’ the same last.” 

 “Maybe,” said Wiry Ben, contemptuously, “but Seth’s the lad for me, though he war a Methody twice o’er. I’m fair beat wi’ Seth, for I’ve been teasin’ him iver sin’ we’ve been workin’ together, an’ he bears me no more malice nor a lamb. An’ he’s a stout-hearted feller too, for when we saw the old tree all afire a-comin’ across the fields one night, an’ we thought as it war a boguy, Seth made no more ado, but he up to’t as bold as a constable. Why, there he comes out o’ Will Maskery’s; an’ there’s Will hisself, lookin’ as meek as if he 

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