sorts of gibberish that a pack of silly women have been a-talking to you about. Mother Twitters for one, I'll be bound. I know her.'

'Never mind,' said Peggy, startled by Luke's proximity to the truth, and taking refuge in a phrase that committed her to nothing, and at the same time asserted that spirit of independence which he had aroused.

'It's not as if you haven't been sensibly brought up,' said Luke gravely, or were one of those wenches in the village. It's just the sort o' thing I can't abide in man or woman, Peggy; hardly in a child. I can't abide it.'

'Then don't abide it,' said Peggy pertly; 'that doesn't matter to anybody, I suppose.'

'I should hope it would matter to you,' he said tenderly, now, 'and if it don't matter what I say or think, why, you're not my Peggy, but some other lass who's come out of My Lady's Chapel instead of yourself.'

'You shouldn't make me angry.'

'You shouldn't have gone up there all alone, Peg,' he said reproachfully; 'there's some rough fellows at the quarries about, and it's late and dark. And you might have fallen, and it's a steep way down too. Catch hold of my hand-do.'

'No, thank you, Mr. Shands.'

Luke Shands looked gravely at her, and then said :—

'I shouldn't have thought it of Peggy Brantwell, if anybody had told me but herself, that she could go off in a tiff and temper because the man who likes her was afraid she might come to harm. I couldn't have believed it.'

'It isn't as-as if—'

And then Peggy, meeting a sob on its way upwards, made a gurgling noise, and swallowed it to disguise her emotion.

'And blest if I believe it even now,' he added.

'I-I didn't want to be seen.'

'Just as my luck has turned, too—just as a little streak of good luck seemed coming to you and me that you should go on like this,' he said.

'What!'

6

'And snap me just like that old grandfather of yours. I wish,' he cried a little crossly himself, that I may never be lucky again, if this is to be the end of it.'

'Oh! you wicked

And then Peggy burst into tears, and frightened Luke, who drew her more closely to his side, and soothed and caressed her, and was very nearly crying too. Thus the storm ended, and the

sheet lightning flickered away, and before the lovers had reached the village they were laughing and talking together, and the best of friends.

'And what is the good luck, Luke?' she asked, as he did not speak of it again, indeed—such is the aggravating habit of the male sex in general-seemed to carefully avoid a subject upon which he knew she would be anxious. 6 'Why don't you tell me?' "Well-Uncle Ribton 's dead.'

'Oh!' exclaimed Peggy, 'how dreadful! And you call that luck?' 'Well-Uncle Ribton never saw any of us for years-he wasn't unlike your grandfather, I've heard, not but what he's very pleasant at times if he likes. I've no cause to fret much because Uncle Ribton 's dead. I don't even remember what he was like when he was living, you see.'

"That makes a difference,' said Peggy, thoughtfully.

‹ And as he has no relations so near as I am, the lawyer wrote to me to-night to say I've come in for his pigs.'

"His what?'

'His pigs. He was a pig-dealer in Neltescombe. Haven't you heard me say so?'

'Did you get that letter by this afternoon's post?'

'Yes.'

'Just at sundown? That was when I was praying for good luck to you, Luke.'

Well, that's a little strange, ain't it,' said

'Were you, though? Luke, and for me too. that before we go any further.'

Bless you, Peggy, let me kiss you for

That little ceremony having been gone through satisfactorily, Peggy said :

'It doesn't seem to matter any one seeing me go in or out of the "Chapel "-I'm so glad.'

'Perhaps something 'll happen to spoil it,' said Luke, with another long laugh, as it has not been done according to Mother Twitters-it was Mother Twitters that put all that nonsense into your head, wasn't it, now?'

'Well, Mrs. Twitters did mention it,' Peggy confessed.

"Your grandfather said long ago she was a witch, and ought to be drowned.'

'Poor thing! And how many pigs are there, Luke?' asked Peggy, returning to the main subject; for upon those pigs hung the destiny of this young couple.

Five; and one of 'em's blind,' replied Luke.

Oh, good gracious, all this fuss about five pigs I' 'It's a stroke of luck,' said Luke Shands again.

III.

A SUNDAY BARGAIN.

LUKE lived all alone in a tumble-down one-roomed shanty, close to the hills of Felspar. He was worse housed than even Felspar folk were housed as a rule. The Irish mud huts were roomy and capacious in comparison with many of the domiciles where the villagers of this remote district drew the breath of life.

It was a cottage perched by itself some ten feet below the level of the narrow path in front of it, so that a spiteful person passing by could have easily kicked the roof off, and it possessed a back garden of some twenty feet in length, ending abruptly with the white, blank hill-side, a colossal wall of four hundred feet which towered above it and shut out air and light. In the distance, from the valley, and the lower ground, Luke Shands' cottage seemed growing out of the jagged limestone like a wen, but there was room in the garden behind for the pigs, if those animals would not object to a little overcrowding.

And Luke had brought his pigs home, and Matthew Brantwell, a shrewd business man in his old age, toddled over to see them, and to see too what could be done. Whether Luke could not be 'done' might be added, even without reflecting too severely on the character of Matthew, who was certainly an unreasonable and covetous old gentleman. Everybody knew that-even Luke, who thought the best of most people, Mrs. Twitters excepted, had his suspicions of it, though he made a great deal of allowance for the eccentricities of Peggy's grandfather.

For Peggy's sake, and at Peggy's wish even, Luke was always extra civil to Matthew Brantwell, a civility which was not often reciprocated, Matthew's temper being a bad one. For Peggy's sake even he was living in this cottage, as a tenant of Mr. Brantwell's, at four pounds per annum, a sum of money for which Luke might have secured quite a comfortable room at cock-eyed Dobson's, and without the bother of housekeeping. But Matthew had persuaded Luke two years ago to take the establishment after his mother's decease, and Luke had thought it as well to please the old gentleman, not caring much where he lived until he settled down for good with Peggy. It was only to sleep in; all day he was in the valley, or on the hills with the sheep, and in the early e vening he was courting Peggy-Sunday excepted, when he and she walked seven miles to church in the afternoon, with three or

four other devout inhabitants of Felspar, the rest of them stopping at home from year's end to year's end.

It was on Sunday morning that Matthew called on Luke, who was shaving by a bit of glass hung up in the front window, which Matthew banged at with his walking stick and cracked.

'I've come to see the pigs,' said Matthew, who was an authority on pigs. Peggy tells me you've had quite a bit of a legacy.'

'Yes, Master Matthew, I call it luck myself."

"Your Uncle Ribton and I have done many a stroke of business together, Luke,' said the old man; and if he had lived twenty-four hours longer I should have had those pigs, and there'd been a matter of-well, ten pounds, very likely, in his stocking instead.'

'Oh!' said Luke, as he put away his shaving tackle, 'I've heard they're worth a lot more than ten pounds. But I ain't a judge of pigs.'

"They're very ugly.'

They're uncommon ugly,' asserted Luke, but they're very healthy.'

"They'll eat you out of house and home.'

'Yes they do eat,' said Luke with a sigh, but there's a chance of getting their own living down the valley. I let them out every day.'

'You'll lose 'em.'

'Oh, they know their way back to supper,' said Luke, with one of his laughs,' trust them. But they're so aggravating, I wish they wouldn't come back sometimes.'

'Why don't you sell 'em, then? You're not able to keep 'em in ease and comfort as a pig should be kept any more than you have ever been able to keep yourself-though I say it as shouldn't p'raps-in ease and comfort. But I'm a plain-speaking man.' 'You are, sir.'

'Why don't you sell the pigs, then?'

'Bless your heart, I'm going,' said Luke.
"Eh-what? What's that, you say?'

'I'm going to sell them, and bank the money before the winter comes on. At least, I'm going to sell four of 'em.'

'Well-well then, what do you want for the four?' asked Matthew. That's what I've come all this beastly way for-and my legs so bad too-to ask if I should take 'em off your hands. The five, I mean-I want the lot. What's the use of keeping one pig?' 'I shall stick to the blind one,' said Luke, very firmly. 'Why?'

'Well, my old mother was blind the last two years of her life, and the pig reminds me of her very much.'

Matthew Brantwell sneered at this touch of sentiment, but he said no more about the blind pig just then.

'Let's look at them,' he said, shortly.

They passed into the little space behind the house, where were the five animals, all with their noses turned towards the gate which shut them out of the valley. Luke was right-they were uncommonly ugly. A misshapen, rhinoceros kind of pig, four of them red-eyed as though they had been crying, and the fifth with his eyes bunged up for ever.

The sight of them excited the cupidity of Matthew Brantwell. 'I'll give you twenty pounds for the lot. Say it's a bargain, and don't be a fool, Luke,' he said.

'I can't drive a bargain on a Sunday, Master Brantwell,' answered Luke: not that I'm a religious man, hard and fast as I ought to be—but I promised Peggy I never would again.'

'Peggy's always got some nonsense in her head and a-interfering about something.'

Peggy's always right, only she's a bit superstitious. Nothing ever came right that was done on a Sunday, I've heard her say over and over again, bless her.'

'Never mind about Peggy. We're talking about pigs, ain't we?'

'I'd rather not talk about them any more till Chipstoke comes to see them.'

'Chipstoke-what, from Roundell Pikes?' exclaimed Matthew. 'That's the man.'

'What do you want to see him for?'

'I don't know that I want to see him,' replied Luke. He That's all. sent me word last night he wanted to see me. Except that he said, "Don't part with the pigs, till I've made you a good bid."

'Selfish beast,' said Matthew, that's like him-I know him of old-and then he'll offer you less than I have. See if he doesn't. He'll want them for a mere song, and then you'll be sorry you didn't let me have them.'

I don't say I won't sell them to you.

grandfather.'

You're Peggy's

'To be sure I am-Peggy's grandfather, exactly so.'

6 And you shall have them for what he offers me-there.'
'Oh !'

Matthew Brantwell seemed checkmated for a moment. What might not Chipstoke offer if dead-set' on these pigs, and knowing