that any good thing should be found outside Yorkshire. But further
talk on the subject was interrupted by a slight exclamation at the
door.

"O what a smoke, feyther! I can't see you, but I suppose you're
somewhere here. You're wanted at home."

Although the speaker was visible to but few in the room there
was no doubt as to her identity, or as to the person addressed as
feyther. Mary Powlett was indeed the niece and not the daughter of
Luke Marner, but as he had brought her up from childhood she looked
upon him as her father. It was her accent and the tone of her voice
which rendered it unnecessary for any of those present to see her
face.

Luke was a bachelor when the child had arrived fifteen years before
in the carrier's cart from Marsden, having made the journey in a
similar conveyance to that town from Sheffield, where her father
and mother had died within a week of each other, the last request
of her mother being that little Polly should be sent off to the
care of Luke Marner at Varley.

Luke had not then settled down into the position of one of the
elders of the village, and he had been somewhat embarrassed by the
arrival of the three year old girl. He decided promptly, however,
upon quitting the lodgings which he had as a single man occupied
and taking a cottage by himself. His neighbors urged upon him that
so small a child could not remain alone all day while he was away
at Marsden at work--a proposition to which he assented; but to
the surprise of every one, instead of placing her during the day