‘I shall never forget Tony’s face.  ’Twas a little, round, firm, tight face, with a seam here and there left by the , but not enough to hurt his looks in a woman’s eye, though he’d had it badish when he was a boy.  So very serious looking and unsmiling ’a was, that young man, that it really seemed as if he couldn’t laugh at all without great pain to his conscience.  He looked very hard at a small in your eye when talking to ’ee.  And there was no more sign of a whisker or beard on Tony Kytes’s face than on the palm of my hand.  He used to sing “The Tailor’s Breeches” with a religious manner, as if it were a hymn:—  
‘“O the petticoats went off, and the breeches they went on!”
 
and all the rest of the scandalous stuff.  He was quite the women’s favourite, and in return for their likings he loved ’em in shoals.
 
‘But in course of time Tony got down to one in particular, Milly Richards, a nice, light, small, tender little thing; and it was soon said that they were engaged to be married.  One Saturday he had been to market to do business for his father, and was driving home the in the afternoon.  When he reached the foot of the very hill we shall be going over in ten minutes who should he see waiting for him at the top but Sallet, a handsome girl, one of the young women he’d been very tender toward before he’d got engaged to Milly.
 
‘As soon as Tony came up to her she said, “My dear Tony, will you give me a lift home?”
 
‘“That I will, darling,” said Tony.  “You don’t suppose I could refuse ’ee?”
 
‘She smiled a smile, and up she , and on drove Tony.
 
‘“Tony,” she says, in a sort of tender , “why did ye desert me for that other one?  In what is she better than I?  I should have made ’ee a finer wife, and a more loving one too.  ’Tisn’t girls that are so easily won at first that are the best.  Think how long we’ve known each other—ever since we were children almost—now haven’t we, Tony?”
 
‘“Yes, that we have,” says Tony, a-struck with the truth o’t.
 
‘“And you’ve never seen anything in me to complain of, have ye, Tony?  Now tell the truth to me?”
 
‘“I never have, upon my life,” says Tony.
 
‘“And—can you say I’m not pretty, Tony?  Now look at me!”
 
‘He let his eyes light upon her for a long while.  “I really can’t,” says he.  “In fact, I never knowed you was so pretty before!”
 
‘“Prettier than she?”
 
‘What Tony would have said to that nobody knows, for before he could speak, what should he see ahead, over the hedge past the turning, but a feather he knew well—the feather in Milly’s hat—she to whom he had been thinking of putting the question as to giving out the banns that very week.
 
‘“Unity,” says he, as mild as he could, “here’s Milly coming.  Now I shall catch it if she sees ’ee riding here with me; and if you get down she’ll be turning the corner in a moment, and, seeing ’ee in the road, she’ll know we’ve been coming on together.  Now, dearest Unity, will ye, to avoid all unpleasantness, which I know ye can’t bear any more than I, will ye lie down in the back part of the waggon, and let me cover you over with the till Milly has passed?  It will all be done in a minute.  Do!—and I’ll think over what we’ve said; and perhaps I shall put a loving question to you after all, instead of to Milly.  ’Tisn’t true that it is all settled between her and me.”
 
‘Well, Unity Sallet agreed, and lay down at the back end of the waggon, and Tony covered her over, so that the waggon seemed to be empty but for the loose tarpaulin; and then he drove on to meet Milly.
 
‘“My dear Tony!” cries Milly, looking up with a little at him as he came near.  “How long you’ve been coming home!  Just as if I didn’t live at Upper Longpuddle at all!  And I’ve come to meet you as you asked me to do, and to ride back with you, and talk over our future home—since you asked me, and I promised.  But I shouldn’t have come else, Mr. Tony!”
 
‘“Ay, my dear, I did ask ye—to be sure I did, now I think of it—but I had quite forgot it.  To ride back with me, did you say, dear Milly?”
 
‘“Well, of course!  What can I do else?  Surely you don’t want me to walk, now I’ve come all this way?”
 
‘“O no, no!  I was thinking you might be going on to town to meet your mother.  I saw her there—and she looked as if she might be expecting ’ee.”
 
‘“O no; she’s just home.  She came across the fields, and so got back before you.”
 
‘“Ah!  I didn’t know that,” says Tony.  And there was no help for it but to take her up beside him.
 
‘They talked on very pleasantly, and looked at the trees, and beasts, and birds, and insects, and at the ploughmen at work in the fields, till presently who should they see looking out of the upper window of a house that stood beside the road they were following, but Hannah Jolliver, another young beauty of the place at that time, and the very first woman that Tony had fallen in love with—before Milly and before Unity, in fact—the one that he had almost arranged to marry instead of Milly.  She was a much more dashing girl than Milly Richards, though he’d not thought much of her of late.  The house Hannah was looking from was her aunt’s.
 
‘“My dear Milly—my coming wife, as I may call ’ee,” says Tony in his modest way, and not so loud that Unity could overhear, “I see a young woman alooking out of window, who I think may me.  The fact is, Milly, she had a notion that I was wishing to marry her, and since she’s discovered I’ve promised another, and a prettier than she, I’m rather afeard of her temper if she sees us together.  Now, Milly, would you do me a favour—my coming wife, as I may say?”
 
‘“Certainly, dearest Tony,” says she.
 
‘“Then would ye creep under the empty sacks just here in the front of the waggon, and hide there out of sight till we’ve passed the house?  She hasn’t seen us yet.  You see, we ought to live in peace and good-will since ’tis almost Christmas, and ’twill prevent angry passions rising, which we always should do.”
 
‘“I don’t mind, to oblige you, Tony,” Milly said; and though she didn’t care much about doing it, she crept under, and down just behind the seat, Unity being at the other end.  So they drove on till they got near the road-side cottage.  Hannah had soon seen him coming, and waited at the window, looking down upon him.  She tossed her head a little disdainful and smiled off-hand.
 
‘“Well, aren’t you going to be civil enough to ask me to ride home with you!” she says, seeing that he was for driving past with a nod and a smile.
 
‘“Ah, to be sure!  What was I thinking of?” said Tony, in a flutter.  “But you seem as if you was staying at your aunt’s?”
 
‘“No, I am not,” she said.  “Don’t you see I have my and jacket on?  I have only called to see her on my way home.  How can you be so stupid, Tony?”
 
‘“In that case—ah—of course you must come along wi’ me,” says Tony, feeling a dim sort of sweat rising up inside his clothes.  And he in the horse, and waited till she’d come downstairs, and then helped her up beside him.  He drove on again, his face as long as a face that was a round one by nature well could be.
 
‘Hannah looked round sideways into his eyes.  “This is nice, isn’t it, Tony?” she says.  “I like riding with you.”
 
‘Tony looked back into her eyes.  “And I with you,” he said after a while.  In short, having considered her, he warmed up, and the more he looked at her the more he liked her, till he couldn’t for the life of him think why he had ever said a word about marriage to Milly or Unity while Hannah Jolliver was in question.  So they sat a little closer and closer, their feet upon the foot-board and their shoulders , and Tony thought over and over again how handsome Hannah was.  He tenderer and tenderer, and called her “dear Hannah” in a whisper at last.
 
‘“You’ve settled it with Milly by this time, I suppose,” said she.
 
‘“N-no, not exactly.”
 
‘“What?  How low you talk, Tony.”
 
‘“Yes—I’ve a kind of .  I said, not exactly.”
 
‘“I suppose you mean to?”
 
‘“Well, as to that—”  His eyes rested on her face, and hers on his.  He wondered how he could have been such a fool as not to follow up Hannah.  “My sweet Hannah!” he bursts out, taking her hand, not being really able to help it, and forgetting Milly and Unity, and all the world besides.  “Settled it?  I don’t think I have!”
 
‘“Hark!” says Hannah.
 
‘“What?” says Tony, letting go her hand.
 
‘“Surely I heard a sort of little screaming under those sacks?  Why, you’ve been carrying corn, and there’s mice in this waggon, I declare!”  She began to haul up the tails of her gown.
 
‘“Oh no; ’tis the axle,” said Tony in an assuring way.  “It do go like that sometimes in dry weather.”
 
‘“Perhaps it was . . . Well, now, to be quite honest, dear Tony, do you like her better than me?  Because—because, although I’ve held off so independent, I’ll own at last that I do like ’ee, Tony, to tell the truth; and I wouldn’t say no if you asked me—you know what.”
 
‘Tony was so won over by this pretty offering mood of a girl who had been quite the reverse (Hannah had a backward way with her at times, if you can mind) that he just glanced behind, and then whispered very soft, “I haven&rsq............