wood into the river; Clem sat upon the parapet, smoked his pipe, and
noted with a lingering delight the play of his sweetheart's lips as her
fingers strained to snap a tough twig. Then the girl spoke, continuing a
conversation already entered upon.

"Phoebe Lyddon's that weak in will. How far's such as her gwaine in life
without some person else to lean upon?"

"If the ivy cannot find a tree it creeps along the ground, Chrissy."

"Ess, it do; or else falls headlong awver the first bank it comes to.
Phoebe's so helpless a maiden as ever made a picksher. I mind her at
school in the days when we was childer together. Purty as them china
figures you might buy off Cheap Jack, an' just so tender. She'd come up
to dinky gals no bigger 'n herself an' pull out her li'l handkercher an'
ax 'em to be so kind as to blaw her nose for her! Now Will's gone, Lard
knaws wheer she'll drift to."

"To John Grimbal. Any man could see that. Her father's set on it."

"Why don't Will write to her and keep her heart up and give her a little
news? 'Twould be meat an' drink to her. Doan't matter 'bout mother an'
me. We'll take your word for it that Will wants to keep his ways secret.
But a sweetheart--'tis so differ'nt. I wouldn't stand it!"

"I know right well you wouldn't. Will has his own way. We won't
criticise him. But there's a masterful man in the running--a prosperous,
loud-voiced, bull-necked bully of a man, and one not accustomed to take
'no' for his answer. I'm afraid of John Grimbal in this matter. I've
gone so far as to warn Will, but he writes back that he knows Phoebe."