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The cold light of day and the forge-glow struck her face alternately as she moved. Young Chave was a man and not a stock or a stone. Therefore he seized the hour and answered her remark.

“You shouldn’t blame your father for telling the truth, young mistress,” he said. “Even though it suit you not to hear it. Yet when ’tis so pleasant and so generally accepted, it might well be agreeable to you.”

“Theer’s butivul scholar’s English,” chuckled Mr. Belworthy; “theer’s high gen’leman’s language, an’ the case in a nutshell!”

Sarah grew shy and uncomfortable. Angry she could not be before Tim’s compliments, and how to answer him without contradicting him she did not know. So she turned to her father instead.

“Be gwaine to eat an’ drink up your food or ban’t ’e, faither?”

“All in gude time. I’ve got to rough the young gen’leman’s horse’s shoes fust.”

“Be in no hurry,” said Tim. “I can wait awhile.”

“I can’t then,” declared Sarah, ungraciously, and so marched off in a fine flutter of mingled emotions.