"That is how things go in the great world, you know," he said. "Out in the great world there is an odd way of settling matters. Still they must be settled somehow or other!" "Out in the world!" she exclaimed. "That is where I long to go." "Then why on earth don’t you?" he replied. At that moment Mrs. Benbow came running out. "I am so sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Hammond," she said to the young girl; "but what with the washing and the making ready for the brewing to-morrow, I don’t know where to turn." Then followed a series of messages to which Hieronymus paid no attention. And then Miss Hammond cracked her whip, waved her greetings with it, and the old white horse trotted away. "And who is the rider of the horse?" asked Hieronymus. "Oh, she is Farmer Hammond’s daughter," said Mrs. Benbow. "Her name is Joan. She is an odd girl, different from the other girls here. They say she is quite a scholar too. Why, _she_ would be the one to write for you. The very one, of course! I’ll call to her." But by that time the old white horse was out of sight. *CHAPTER III.* *THE PRIMARY GLORY.* The next day at the Green Dragon was a busy one. Mrs. and Mr. Benbow were up betimes, banging casks about in the cellar. When Hieronymus Howard came down to breakfast, he found that they had brought three barrels into the kitchen, and that one was already half full of some horrible brown liquid, undergoing the process of fermentation. He felt himself much aggrieved that he was unable to contribute his share of work to the proceedings. It was but little comfort to him that he was again allowed to attend to the customers. The pouring out of the beer had lost its charm for him. "It is a secondary glory to pour out the beer," he grumbled. "I aspire to the primary glory of helping to make the beer." Mrs. Benbow was heaping on the coal in the furnace. She turned round and looked at the disconsolate figure. "There is one thing you might do," she said. "I’ve not half enough barm. There are two or three places where you might call for some; and between them all perhaps you’ll get enough." She then mentioned three houses, Farmer Hammond’s being among the number. "Very likely the Hammonds would oblige us," she said. "They are neighborly folk. They live at the Malt-House Farm, two miles off. You can’t carry the jar, but you can take the perambulator and wheel it back. I’ve often done that when I had much to carry." Hieronymus Howard looked doubtfully at the perambulator. "Very well," he said submissively. "I suppose I shall only look like an ordinary tramp. It seems to be the fashion to tramp on this road!" It never entered his head to rebel. The great jar was lifted into the perambulator, and Hieronymus wheeled it away, still keeping up his dignity, though under somewhat trying circumstances.