"You are not nearer your marriage than you were twenty years ago," said Arminell, pitifully.
"I have been that troubled for Samuel," said Joan, not replying, but continuing her own train of thought; "I've feared he'd be took off to the union, and then the old man would ha' died, not having me to walk out with of a Sunday and bring him a little 'baccy. And I—I'd ha' nort in the world to live for, or to hoard my wages for, wi'out my old Samuel."
The woman paused, turned round and looked at the feeble disabled wreck of a man, who put his crippled hand to his forelock and saluted.
"How came he to fall off the waggon?" asked Arminell.
"Well, miss, it came of my being on the waggon," explained Ceely, "I couldn't have falled off otherwise."
"Were you asleep? Was the waggon in motion?"
Joan hastily interfered, it would not do for too close an enquiry to be made into how it came that Samuel was incapable of keeping himself firm on the waggon; any more than it would do to go too narrowly into the occasion of his shooting off his hand.
"What was it, miss, you was a-saying? Nearer our marriage? That is as the Lord wills. But—miss—us two have set our heads on one thing. I don't mind telling you, as you're so kind as to promise you'd get Samuel a situation as kitchen-maid."
"I did not promise that!"
"Well, miss, you said you'd speak about it, and I know well enough that what you speak about will be done."
"What is it you have set your heart on? Can I help you to that?"
"You, miss! O no, only the Lord. You see, miss, I don't earn much, and Samuel next to nothing at all, so our ever having a home of our own do seem a long way off. But there's the north side of the church, where Samuel's
