on 'em wur, an' he's fou'est o' th' lot. I should think tha could see that fur thysen."
"Oh," replied Miss Ffrench, "then I suppose I am wrong. My idea was that at that age children all looked alike."
"Loike him?" said Janey dryly. "Did tha think as tha did?"
As the young Briarley in question was of a stolid and unornamental type, uncertain of feature and noticeable chiefly for a large and unusually bald head of extraordinary phrenological development, this gave the matter an entirely novel aspect.
"Perhaps," said Miss Ff rench, "I scarcely regarded it from that point of view."
Then she changed the subject.
"How is Mrs. Dixon?" she inquired.
"She's neyther better nor worse," was the answer, "an' a mort o' trouble."
"That is unfortunate. Who cares for her?"
"Mother. She's th' on'y one as can do owt wi' her."
"Is there no one else she has a fancy for—your father, for instance?" inquired Miss Ffrench.
"She conna bide th' soight o' him, an' he's feart to go nigh her. Th' ony man as she ivver looked at wur Murdoch," answered Janey.
"I think I remember his saying she had made friends with him. Is she as fond of him now?"
"I dunnot know as I could ca' it bein' fond on him. She is na fond o' nobody. But she says he's getten a bit more sense than th' common run."
"It is rather good-natured on his part to come to see her——"
"He does na coom to see her. He has na been nigh
