And with that she looked at her watch, and calmly said that it was time for her to be off to the Green Dragon, Mr. Howard having asked her to go in the afternoon instead of the morning. But though she left Auntie Lloyd quelled and paralyzed, and was conscious that she had herself won the battle once and for all, she was very much irritated and distressed too. Hieronymus noticed that something was wrong with her. "What is the matter?" he asked kindly. "Has Auntie Lloyd been paying a visit to the Malt-House Farm, and exasperated you beyond all powers of endurance? Or was the butter-making a failure? Or is it the same old story--general detestation of every one and everything in Little Stretton, together with an inward determination to massacre the whole village at the earliest opportunity?" Joan smiled, and looked up at the kind face which always had such a restful influence on her. "I suppose that _is_ the root of the whole matter," she said. "I am sorry for you," he said gently, as he turned to his papers, "but I think you are not quite wise to let your discontent grow beyond your control. Most people, you know, when their lives are paralyzed, are found to have but sorry material out of which to fashion for themselves satisfaction and contentment." Her face flushed as he spoke, and a great peace fell over her. When she was with him all was well with her; the irritations at home, the annoyances either within or without, either real or imaginary, and indeed all worries passed for the time out of her memory. David Ellis was forgotten, Auntie Lloyd was forgotten; the narrow, dull, everyday existence broadened out into many interesting possibilities. Life had something bright to offer to Joan. She bent happily over the pages, thoroughly enjoying her congenial task; and now and again during the long pauses of silence when Hieronymus was thinking out his subject, she glanced at his kind face and his silvered head. And restless little Joan was restful. *CHAPTER VIII.* *THE DISTANCE GROWS.*