"First to make a fool of me, and i' t' second place to make a fool of
thee," was his reply. And he added with pettish emphasis, "They're all
alike, gentle and simple. Lad, lad! If ye'd have any peace of your life
never let a woman's foot across your threshold. Steek t' door of your
house--if ye own one--and t' door o' your heart--if ye own one--and then
ye'll never rue. Look at this coat!"

And the old man went grumpily to bed, and dreamed that Miss Jenny had
put her little foot over his threshold, and that he had shown her the
secret panel, and let her take away his savings.

And Jack went to bed, and dreamed that he went to school, and showed
himself to Phoebe Shaw in his Sunday suit.

This dainty little damsel had long been making havoc in Jack's heart.
The attraction must have been one of contrast, for whereas Jack was
black and grubby, and had only week-day clothes--which were ragged at
that--Phoebe was fair, and exquisitely clean, and quite terribly tidy.
Her mother was the neatest woman in the parish. It was she who was wont
to say to her trembling handmaid, "I hope I can black a grate without
blacking myself." But little Phoebe promised so far to out-do her
mother, that it seemed doubtful if she could "black herself" if she
tried. Only the bloom of childhood could have resisted the polishing
effects of yellow soap, as Phoebe's brow and cheeks did resist it. Her
shining hair was--compressed into a plait that would have done credit to
a rope-maker. Her pinafores were speckless, and as to her white Whitsun
frock--Jack could think of nothing the least like Phoebe in that, except
a snowy fantail strutting about the Dovecot roof; and, to say the truth,
the likeness was most remarkable.