Seth | Page 4

form of
resentment of them.
"Tha's goin' to ha' a sweetheart at last, my lass," was one of Janner's
favorite witticisms, but Bess bore it with characteristic coolness. "I'm
noan as big a foo' as I look," she would say, "an' I dunnot moind him no
more nor if he wus a wench hissen'."
Small as was the element of female society at Black Creek, this young
woman was scarcely popular. She was neither fair nor fond: a
predominance of muscle and a certain rough deftness of hand were her
chief charms. Ordinary sentiment would have been thrown away upon
her; and, fortunately, she was spared it.
"She's noan hurt wi' good looks, our Bess," her father remarked with
graceful chivalrousness on more than one occasion, "but hoo con heave
a'most as much as I con, an' that's summat."
Consequently, it did not seem likely that the feeling she had evidently
awakened in the breast of their lodger was akin to the tender passion.
"Am I in yo're way?" he would ask apologetically; and the answer was
invariably a gracious if curt one: "No--no more than th' cat. Stay wheer
yo' are, lad, an' make yo'resen' comfortable."

There came a change, however, in the nature of their intercourse, but
this did not occur until the lad had been with them some three months.
For several days he had been ailing and unlike himself. He had been
even more silent than usual; he had eaten little, and lagged on his way
to and from his work; he looked thinner, and his step was slow and
uncertain. There was so great an alteration in him, in fact, that Bess
softened toward him visibly. She secretly bestowed the best morsels
upon him, and even went so far as to attempt conversation. "Let yo're
work go a bit," she advised: "yo're noan fit fur it."
But he did not give up until the third week of illness, and then one
warm day at noon, Bess, at work in her kitchen among dishes and pans,
was startled from her labors by his appearing at the door and staggering
toward her. "What's up wi' yo'?" she demanded. "Yo' look loike death."
"I dunnot know," he faltered, and then, staggering again, caught at her
dress with feeble hands "Dunnot yo'," he whispered, sinking forward--
"dunnot yo' let no one--come anigh me."
She flung a strong arm around him, and saved him from a heavy fall.
His head dropped helplessly against her breast.
"He's fainted dead away," she said: "he mun ha' been worse than he
thowt fur."
She laid him down, and, loosening his clothes at the throat, went for
water; but a few minutes after she had bent over him for the second
time an exclamation, which was almost a cry, broke from' her. "Lord
ha' mercy!" she said, and fell back, losing something of color herself.
She had scarcely recovered herself even when, after prolonged efforts,
she succeeded in restoring animation to the prostrate figure under her
hands. The heavy eyes opening met hers in piteous appeal and protest.
"I--thowt it wur death comn," said the lad. "I wur hopin' as it wur
death."
"What ha' yo' done as yo' need wish that?" said. Bess; and then, her

voice shaking with excitement which got the better of her and forced
her to reveal herself, she added, "I've fun' out that as yo've been hidin'."
Abrupt and unprefaced as her speech was, it scarcely produced the
effect she had expected it would. Her charge neither flinched nor
reddened. He laid a weak, rough hand upon her dress with a feebly
pleading touch. "Dunnot yo' turn agen me," he whispered: "yo' wouldna
if yo' knew."
"But I dunnot know," Bess answered, a trifle doggedly, despite her
inward relentings.
"I comn to yo'," persisted the lad, "because I thowt yo' wouldna turn
agen me: yo' wouldna," patiently again, "if yo' knew."
*****
Gradually the ponderous witticism in which Janner had indulged
became an accepted joke in the settlement. Bess had fallen a victim to
the tender sentiment at last. She had found an adorer, and had
apparently succumbed to his importunities. Seth spent less time in his
shanty and more in her society. He lingered in her vicinity on all
possible occasions, and seemed to derive comfort from her mere
presence. And Bess not only tolerated but encouraged him. Not that her
manner was in the least degree effusive: she rather extended a rough
protection to her admirer, and displayed a tendency to fight his battles
and employ her sharper wit as a weapon in his behalf.
"Yo' may get th' best o' him," she said dryly once to the wit of the
Creek, who had been jocular at his expense, "but yo' conna get th' best
o' me. Try