He was the
second son of his father; the eldest would have High Beck farm, of
course, but there was a good penny in the Kendal bank in store for
Michael. When harvest was over, he went to Chapel Langdale to learn
to dance; and at night, in his merry moods, he would do his steps on
the flag floor of the Yew Nook kitchen, to the secret admiration of
Susan, who had never learned dancing, but who flouted him
perpetually, even while she admired, in accordance with the rule she
seemed to have made for herself about keeping him at a distance so
long as he lived under the same roof with her. One evening he sulked
at some saucy remark of hers; he sitting in the chimney corner with
his arms on his knees, and his head bent forwards, lazily gazing into
the wood-fire on the hearth, and luxuriating in rest after a hard
day's labour; she sitting among the geraniums on the long, low
window-seat, trying to catch the last slanting rays of the autumnal
light to enable her to finish stitching a shirt-collar for Will, who
lounged full length on the flags at the other side of the hearth to
Michael, poking the burning wood from time to time with a long hazel-
stick to bring out the leap of glittering sparks.
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