ye an' ye'll march off wi' he-an' I reckon ye'd be soft enough to do it too, if ye hadn't a-got your old father to look after ye.'

A dead pause ensued, and Robert wagged his head sagaciously. 'Ye haven't much to say, have ye?' he cried triumphantly. Ye reckoned ye'd nothin' to do but hold your tongues about the ploughin' match, an' Master James 'ud carry all before en; but I've put a spoke in his wheel for once. I've a-wrote my name down, an' 'tis me what'll win the prize, same as I did win the other prizes, an' Master Jim 'ull jist have to do without it.'

Mother and daughter looked at each other in silence; and after a pause, Mrs. Inkpen, in a small, insinuating voice, informed her husband that dinner was ready.

The meal was a somewhat gloomy one, but every now and then Robert cast a triumphant glance at his womenkind, obviously congratulating himself on the skill with which he had asserted his own rights and routed the pretensions of his rival.

Even after he had left the house, Mrs. Inkpen spoke in a whisper. 'He's altogether unfit for it,' she said. It'll fair break his heart if he don't win.'

'How can he win?' returned Lyddy, not without a certain pride amid her discomfiture. He mid ha' bin able to get the better of a few old folks, but I don't see how he can look to beat Jim. Everybody do say there's never been Jim's match in the parish.'

6

'If he and your father started out i' the wold days he wouldn't ha' found it so easy to beat en,' said Mrs. Inkpen, with some indignation. But at father's time o' life-goin' on seventy, and so scraggled as he be wi' the rheumatics, he must be mad to think on't. An' what he'll do when he finds hisself beat I can't think. He never could a-bear to be beat in anything, and he did always reckon hisself champion at the ploughin'.'

'Well, 'tis a very bad job, I'm sure,' groaned Lyddy. 'Father's set enough again Jim as it be, wi'out this-I'd 'low this'll about finish his chance.'

'Ah, but I'm thinkin' o' father hisself,' returned the mother, shaking her head. He be so down on us, along o' thinkin' we kep' it from him to prevent his winnin', when all we wanted was to prevent his losin'. But you'm right for one thing,' she added, with a certain gloomy satisfaction, 'it'll put an end to Jim's coortin'— the poor chap 'ull never be let cross the door again. Dear to be sure, I can't think whatever put it into Parson's head to start this here match! I'm sure the menfolks is ready enough to get

fightin' an' quarrellin' for nothin' wi'out the Reverend settin' 'em by the ears. I be sorry for 'ee, Lyddy, my dear, but I be afeard ye'll have to say goodbye to Jim.'

Lyddy pondered with a downcast face, as she removed the dinner things; but presently her mother heard her singing in a cheerful voice as she washed them up at the sink.

'I'm sure I'm glad you be a-brightenin' up a bit, my dear,' she called out.

'I've got a plan,' rejoined Lyddy, and hurrying up to her mother she caught her face in her damp hands and whispered in her ear.

That's a good notion, bain't it?' she ended triumphantly. 'That'll make it all right.'

"It will,' conceded Mrs. Inkpen, doubtfully, if he'll agree.'

In the afternoon Lyddy pulled down her sleeves, put on a clean apron over the print that was still crackling in its Monday freshness, and betook herself to the top of the lane to wait till Jim should stroll that way, as he generally did when his work was done.

Presently his tall active figure came in sight, swinging along at a brisk pace which quickened as he saw her.

'You'm in very good time to-day, maidie,' he remarked, after the first amenities. I thought I was early an' reckoned I'd have to hang about for a bit.'

'I made so much haste as I could,' rejoined Lyddy, disengaging herself. I've summat to tell 'ee.'

'No bad noos, I hope ?' said Jim anxiously.

Well, not exactly bad noos, but things have fell out terr❜ble ark'ard. Father-there he's got wind o' the ploughin'-match an' he've a-put down his name to take his chance wi' the rest."

Jim Fry whistled.

'I never heerd o' sich a thing! Why, he can scarce walk straight, let alone drive a straight furrow! 'Tis years an' years since he've tried sich a thing. His measter do keep en to light jobs now, don't he?'

Lyddy nodded.

'Mother an' me kep' it from en o' purpose, knowin' it 'ud be too much for en-an' he d' think we done it along o' not wishin' him to beat you.'

Jim's face relaxed into a slow smile.

Be that what he do think?'

'He do. He've reg'lar made up his mind he be a-goin' to beat ye-an' I'll tell ye summat, Jim-he must beat ye.'

'What?' cried Jim, falling back aghast.

'Ye'll have to let him beat ye,' repeated Lyddy firmly; 'ye'll have to let him beat ye for love o' me.'

'Well, but

'the young man began, and then stopped short

in mingled wrath and consternation.

'It be a good deal to ask,' resumed Lyddy,' but when I do tell 'ee 'tis for my sake ye'll not think it too much. Father have always been again ye, Jim, fro' the first,' she added with extreme candour, an' if you do go an' win the prize what he've a-set his heart on, an' shame him what used to be the champion, he'll never let I speak to ye again-an' what's more it'll kill him like as not, an' then I myself 'ull be forced to hate ye.'

Though young Fry was evidently struck by this latter argument, he was not altogether convinced of its justice. He gazed at the girl with a somewhat lowering brow, scratching his jaw meditatively the while.

'It be pretty cool of ye to say that, my maid,' he remarked; 'you do seem to be pretty cool altogether-jist about cool,' he added with increasing indignation. 'I be to make a fool of myself before the whole parish jist to please your father what had never so much as a civil word for me.'

to

Not to please my father,' rejoined Lyddy, with dignity, please me. Ye did always talk so much about bein' wishful for to please me, an' now as I do show ye how to do it ye hang back.'

'How can I help hangin' back?' cried the poor young fellow. There, I d' 'low it bain't right what ye want I to do. It do seem to be a kind o' cheatin'. The folks as come to look on reckons everyone be a-doin' his best-some o' the lads fro' Branston 'ull be havin' bets

Lyddy threw out her hand solemnly.

'Ye mustn't let 'em bet,' she observed. 'Bettin's wicked, anyhow, so ye did ought to be glad to stop that. Now, Jim,' she added in a wheedling tone, do 'ee make up your mind to do what I say. I'll love ye for it-jist about!'

6

'Ye said ye'd hate me if I didn't,' grumbled Jim; "'tis a funny sort o' love what can chop an' change like that.'

'I said I mid be forced to hate ye,' she said, correcting him. 'If ye was to do my father a mischief, of course I'd have to hate ye. But I don't wish to do it-I'd like to love ye.'

She said this with such a pleading glance of the blue eyes that were usually more keen than soft, and with such a bewitching dimpling of her pretty face, that her lover was vanquished.

'Well, if that's the case, I must try to give 'ee your wish,' he rejoined. But you must reward me, Lyddy. You must give me your promise outright, an' no more shilly-shally, no matter what your father says.'

'Oh, I'll agree to that,' cried the delighted girl. An' I shouldn't wonder but what father'd be so set up over the prize that he'd be in a good humour with you so well as everyone else.'

'Others mid beat en though,' suggested Jim. 'Him an' me bain't the only ones. Sol Young and Bob Marshall an' a good many other chaps is goin' in for the match too-an' but a wold man.'

your father's

'No, no,' said Lyddy, shaking her head emphatically. Father mid be wold, but he be terr'ble clever, an' when he do set his mind to a thing, he do never let hisself be beat. There is but you to be afeard on.'

To Jim's surprise he found that this view was shared by most of the villagers. The elders who had witnessed Robert Inkpen's prowess in former days pinned their faith to him still, and though the younger members of the community rallied round Jim, and loudly announced their belief that he would carry the day, so universal was the traditional belief in the power of the old champion, that even these took it for granted he would distance all rivals except his would-be son-in-law.

'But I'll back you, Jim,' cried Tom Meadway, slapping young Fry heartily on the back. 'I'll bet any man half-a-crown as you'll beat wold Inkpen out and out.'

The two were standing at the bar of the Black Horse, and Jim, after a startled glance round, drew his friend cautiously on one side.

"Look 'ee here, Tom-don't ye go for to lay any bets on me,' he whispered. 'I don't want to have no bettin'.'

Tom stared.

'Well I'm dalled!' he exclaimed. 'What's that for? I laid two shillin' on ye for the sack race at the Primrose Feet last summer, an' ye was proud to hear on it.'

"Well, 'tis this way. The maid what I be a-cwortin' be reg'lar set again bettin',' Jim explained hastily. She do think it wicked.'

And then, remarking that he was in a bit of a hurry, he paid his score and went out, leaving his friend gaping.

The eventful Thursday dawned bright and fine; there had been a touch of frost over night, which, though not sufficient to harden the ground, lent crispness and sparkle to the air, and silvered the dewy patches beneath tree and hedgerow; here and there on sunny stretches of the latter little pearly buds of hawthorn spangled the network of young green; opening primroses alternated with the hardier gold of celandine and dandelion; delicate speedwell blooms pushed their way upwards through the rank grass by the wayside, and the satin-flower, elegant, ethereal fine lady of the hedgerow, flaunted its shining petals on every mossy bank.

Robert Inkpen's new smock-frock seemed to vie with this last-named blossom in its snowy whiteness. He had, moreover, purchased a new wide-awake, and had anticipated his Saturday shave. Mrs. Inkpen broke into open admiration as she walked round him, and Lyddy was conscious of a throb of pride, though her father's triumph could only be encompassed by the humiliation of her lover. Robert himself was innocently vain of his appearance, and absolutely confident of the issue of the contest.

'I did win my first ploughin'-match in a noo smock-frock what my mother made I,' he announced; 'I did win my second in a noo smock-frock what you did make I, wold 'ooman, an' likeways my third; an' I be a-goin' to win this here match, what'll be my last, most like, in a noo smock-frock made by my darter Lyddy. Give us a kiss, my maid-there, that's for luck, an' off us goes.'

Down at the field a crowd had gathered, and the old champion was hailed with loud cheers; poor Jim, who had originally expected this ovation to be for him, stood apart, crestfallen and sulky.

'This here'll want a lot o' makin' up for,' he murmured in Lyddy's ear; it will-jist about.'

Though Mr. Inkpen did not catch the words, he observed that the young couple were walking together, and taking note of the melancholy expression of both faces, instantly inferred that this gloom was caused by the thought of his own impending victory. He nodded at Jim in a friendly way, feeling more kindly towards that young man than he had done for many a day.

Cheer up,' he remarked, 'there's other prizes besides the prize for the ploughin'-match! Ye can but do your best, an' if ye fail, I dare say our Lyddy 'ull console ye.'

He passed on, aglow with the sense of his own generosity, and