had a little chat. Everyone liked her, and was glad to have her
company. 'Good old Liza,' they would say, as she left them, 'she's a
rare good sort, ain't she?'

She asked after the aches and pains of all the old people, and
delicately inquired after the babies, past and future; the children
hung on to her skirts and asked her to play with them, and she would
hold one end of the rope while tiny little ragged girls skipped,
invariably entangling themselves after two jumps.

She had nearly reached home, when she heard a voice cry:

'Mornin'!'

She looked round and recognized the man whom Tom had told her was
called Jim Blakeston. He was sitting on a stool at the door of one of
the houses, playing with two young children, to whom he was giving
rides on his knee. She remembered his heavy brown beard from the day
before, and she had also an impression of great size; she noticed this
morning that he was, in fact, a big man, tall and broad, and she saw
besides that he had large, masculine features and pleasant brown eyes.
She supposed him to be about forty.

'Mornin'!' he said again, as she stopped and looked at him.

'Well, yer needn't look as if I was goin' ter eat yer up, 'cause I
ain't,' he said.

''Oo are you? I'm not afeard of yer.'