roadstead two men passed slowly in the direction he intended to pursue.
One of them recognized Jocelyn, and bade him good-night, adding, 'Wish
you joy, sir, of your choice, and hope the wedden will be soon!'

'Thank you, Seaborn. Well--we shall see what Christmas will do towards
bringing it about.'

'My wife opened upon it this mornen: "Please God, I'll up and see that
there wedden," says she, "knowing 'em both from their crawling days."'

The men moved on, and when they were out of Pierston's hearing the one
who had not spoken said to his friend, 'Who was that young kimberlin?
He don't seem one o' we.'

'Oh, he is, though, every inch o' en. He's Mr. Jocelyn Pierston, the
stwone-merchant's only son up at East Quarriers. He's to be married to
a stylish young body; her mother, a widow woman, carries on the same
business as well as she can; but their trade is not a twentieth part of
Pierston's. He's worth thousands and thousands, they say, though 'a do
live on in the same wold way up in the same wold house. This son is
doen great things in London as a' image-carver; and I can mind when, as
a boy, 'a first took to carving soldiers out o' bits o' stwone from the
soft-bed of his father's quarries; and then 'a made a set o' stwonen
chess-men, and so 'a got on. He's quite the gent in London, they tell
me; and the wonder is that 'a cared to come back here and pick up
little Avice Caro--nice maid as she is notwithstanding. . . . Hullo!
there's to be a change in the weather soon.'

Meanwhile the subject of their remarks waited at the appointed place
till seven o'clock, the hour named between himself and his affianced,