Shirley

with you, young Misses. And then you reckon to have so much knowledge; and i' my thoughts it's only superficial sort o' vanities you're acquainted with. I can tell – happen a year sin' – one day Miss Caroline coming into our counting-house when I war packing up summut behind t' great desk, and she didn't see me, and she brought a slate wi' a sum on it to t' maister: it war only a bit of a sum in practice, that our Harry would have settled i' two minutes. She could n't do it; Mr. Moore had to show her how: and when he did show her, she couldn't understand him.«
    »Nonsense, Joe!«
    »Nay, it's no nonsense: and Miss Shirley, there, reckons to hearken to t' maister when he's talking ower trade, so attentive like, as if she followed him word for word, and all war as clear as a lady's looking-glass to her een; and all t' while she's peeping and peeping out o' t' window to see if t' mare stands quiet; and then looking at a bit of a splash on her riding-skirt; and then glancing glegly round at wer counting-house cobwebs and dust, and thinking what mucky folk we are, and what a grand ride she'll have just i' now ower Nunnely-common. She hears no more o' Mr. Moore's talk nor if he spake Hebrew.«
    »Joe, you are a real slanderer. I would give you your answer, only the people are coming out of church: we must leave you. Man of prejudice, good-bye: William, good-bye. Children, come up to Fieldhead to-morrow, and you shall choose what you like best out of Mrs. Gill's store-room.«
     
     
Chapter XIX
A Summer Night
    The hour was now that of dusk. A clear air favoured the kindling of the stars.
    »There will be just light enough to show me the way home,« said Miss Keeldar, as she prepared to take leave of Caroline at the Rectory garden-door.
    »You must not go alone, Shirley. Fanny shall accompany you.«
    »That she shall not. Of what need I be afraid in my own parish? I would walk from Fieldhead to the church any fine mid-summer night, three hours later than this, for the mere pleasure of seeing the stars, and the chance of meeting a fairy.«
    »But just wait till the crowd is cleared away.«
    »Agreed. There are the five Misses Armitage streaming by. Here comes Mrs. Sykes's phaeton, Mr. Wynne's close carriage, Mrs. Birtwhistle's car: I don't wish to go through the ceremony of bidding them all good-bye, so we will step into the garden and take shelter amongst the laburnums for an instant.«
    The rectors, their curates and their churchwardens, now issued from the church-porch. There was a great confabulation, shaking of hands, congratulation on speeches, recommendation to be careful of the night air, etc. By degrees the throng dispersed; the carriages drove off. Miss Keeldar was just emerging from her flowery refuge, when Mr. Helstone entered the garden and met her.
    »Oh! I want you!« he said: »I was afraid you were already gone. Caroline, come here!«
    Caroline came, expecting, as Shirley did, a lecture on not having been visible at church. Other subjects, however, occupied the Rector's mind.
    »I shall not sleep at home to-night,« he continued. »I have just met with an old friend, and promised to accompany him. I shall return probably about noon to-morrow. Thomas, the clerk, is engaged, and I cannot get him to sleep in the house, as I usually do when I am absent for a night; now –«
    »Now,« interrupted Shirley, »you want me as a gentleman – the first gentleman in Briarfield, in short, to supply your place, be master of the Rectory, and guardian of your niece and maids while you are away?«
    »Exactly, captain: I thought the post would suit you. Will you favour Caroline so far as to be her guest for one night? Will you stay here instead of going back to Field-head?«
    »And what will Mrs. Pryor do? She expects me home.«
    »I will send her word. Come, make up your mind to stay. It grows late; the dew falls heavily: you and Caroline will enjoy each other's society I doubt not.«
    »I promise you then to stay with Caroline,« replied Shirley. »As you say, we shall enjoy each other's society: we will not be separated to-night. Now, rejoin your old friend, and fear nothing for us.«
    »If there should chance to be any disturbance in the night, captain – if you should hear the picking of a lock, the cutting out of a pane of glass, a stealthy tread of steps about the house (and I need not fear to tell
you,
who bear a well-tempered, mettlesome heart under your girl's ribbon-sash, that such little incidents are very