'Eh?'

'The world wunna made in seven days only for Abel Woodus,' said Hazel
daringly.

'You've come back very peart from Silverton,' said Abel reflectively--
'very peart, you 'ave. How many young fellers told you your 'air was
abron this time? That fool Albert said so last time, and you were
neither to hold nor to bind. Abron! Carrots!'

But it was not, as he thought, this climax that silenced Hazel. It was
the lucky hit about the young fellows and the reminiscence called up by
the word 'abron.' He continued his advantage, mollified by victory.

'Tell you what it is, 'Azel; it's time you was married. You're too
uppish.'

'I shall ne'er get married.'

'Words! words! You'll take the first as comes--if there's ever such a
fool.'

Hazel wished she could tell him that one had asked her, and that no
labouring man. But discretion triumphed.

'Maybe,' she said tossing her head, 'I _will_ marry, to get away
from the Callow.'

'Well, well, things couldna be dirtier; maybe they'll be cleaner when