things as I nivver heerd on if I getten as fur as th' Contynent. Theer's France now—foak say as they dunnot speak Lancashire i' France, an' conna so much as understand it. Well, theer's ignorance aw o'er th' world."
The door opened at this juncture, and Mr. Haviland entered—fresh, florid and cordial. His temperament being an easy one, he rather dreaded collision with anybody, and would especially have disliked an uncomfortable interview with this old fellow. He would like to be able to preserve his affability of demeanor for his own sake as well as for Miss Barholm's.
"Ah!" he said, "Craddock, is it? Glad to see you, Craddock."
Sammy rose from his seat.
"Aye," he answered. "Sam'll Craddock fro' Riggan. Same to you, Mester."
Mr. Haviland waved his hand good-naturedly.
"Take your seat again," he said. "Don't stand. You are the older man of the two, you know, and I dare say you are tired with your walk. You came about the lodge-keeper's place?"
"That little lass o' th owd parson's" began Sammy.
"Miss Anice Barholm," interposed Mr. Haviland. "Yes, she told me she would send you. I never had the pleasure of seeing her until she drove here yesterday to ask for the place for you. She was afraid to lose time in waiting for her father's return."
"Yo' nivver saw her afore?"
"No."
"Well," rubbing his hands excitedly over the knob of his stick, "hoo's a rarer un than I thowt fur, even. Hoo'll stond at nowt, wont that little wench," and he gave vent to his feelings in a delighted chuckle. "I'd loike to ax
