Mrs. Creak was wrong when she lamented Peggy's non-appreciation of the beauties of nature. Her little soul was drinking it in very slowly, but very surely. As she looked out of her small bedroom window every morning, she would say to herself— "Oh, Peggy, what is it makes you feel so happy? 'Tis the wonderful lot of room you sees, and all the empty earth and sky, why all London couldn't crowd out this place, 'tis so big!" Now as she looked at the snowdrops, she addressed herself again. "They does keep theirselves clean, Peggy. 'Tis a pity you can't be more like 'em, they be just like white chiny. I'm glad I don't have to dust 'em ev'ry mornin'. I should be certain sure to snap their stalks off! I wish Mrs. Creak could see what flowers I have 'ere, and nothink whatsoever to pay." Then she betook herself indoors. The garden was pleasant, but she could not scrub or dust it, and those two arts were at present her chief joy. The day passed too quickly for all she had to do, and at four o'clock she locked up the front door, leaving Albert Edward in the back kitchen with a plate of scraps by his side. When she arrived at Mrs. Timson's she found that worthy woman sitting down with her husband at his tea. John Timson was the carrier to the nearest market town, six miles away. He was a meek little man with a great faculty for receiving all local gossip and quietly passing it on. His wife overpowered him when present. She was a head taller than he, and a great talker, but not a cheerful one. They had no children, and Mrs. Timson was very glad to help out their small income by going out cleaning or washing. She washed for the Miss Churchhills, and Peggy's much-prized cotton gowns passed through her hands. "Come ye in and sit down, me dear," she said to Peggy. "I've been expectin' ye this long while. How's the world treatin' ye? Better 'n it do me, I reckon! For 'tis work, work, work, when me bones is full of aches and pains. And if I had laws to make, I'd make 'em so as to make the sufferin' ones sit still, and the hearty ones to work." Her husband gave a quiet wink to Peggy. "Meanin' me, in course, wife; but I do be at it all day long." "You? You sit in your cart like a dook, and gossip wi' folks till one don't know fac' from fiction. 'Tis me that be at it all day long." "I like workin'," said Peggy simply. "But then I be stronger than you, missus." "That you be. I mind when I were a girl how I worked. But there! Things is different nowadays, and I'm gradorly droppin' down towards me tomb." "I've locked up," said Peggy inconsequently. "Do you think it will be all safe?" "Safe as my watch in my pocket," said the carrier. His wife shook her head at him. "Do ee remember that terrible murder away at Ball Farm two years gone? 'Twas a farm servant left in charge, and 'twas gipsies that did it. Two men got inside, dressed like women, and they were purtending to tell fortunes, and the poor little maid screamed for help, and they killed her."