"'Twarn't the wars, 'twarn't the wars," broke in the old man, eagerly. "Squire was as big a man when the wars was done as when they begun--only older--older, you understand. And no one 'ud ha' laid a finger on ought belonging to him, not for gold untold; they had that respect for him, and they bore fear on him too. A very plain-speaking gentleman he was when he was pleased. But no--'twarn't the wars. He was a great man, and a rich man to the day of his death. He was took sudden, you understand--in some sort of fit like; and young master--that's Passon Perrient as they calls him, our young missis' father--and missis, they was away at Ipswich, and come back all of a scuffle and finds him dead; and by all I hear, not the value of a penny-piece in the house in money--plenty of silver and pewter you understand, but no money whatsumever. And when all come to be settled, why then Passon Perrient he was on the windy side of the hedge, and he just sold the horses and cows and the old house and went across seas, and our young missis, she come to her aunt, old Madam Isham, and Molly, that's my wife, and I, we come along on her; but 'twas a change--that it was." "It was well that some of her old servants were so faithful as to stay by her," said Harrison. "Ees, ees we'd surely stay by her; but 'tis no fitting place here for a young lady; why, there's no company--no coming and going; and the coaches as used to come to the old Squires's; and the quality; and they fare to have clean forgotten our young lady, dang 'em! And Squire's great house turned into an inn! You think o' that! If so be as you goo into Hun'ston, you'll see the name o' it, The Royal Oak, and a great oak tree drawed for a sign over the front door. How's that for impudence!" "John, John!" called a clear voice from the door, "is that milk coming in to-day? Good morrow, Captain Harrison; methinks you look as though you had rested well." No change of circumstances seemed to have saddened the bright creature who stood on the doorstep, her pretty head rising like a flower from a wide white collar, her coarse black gown pinned back under a great white apron. "'Tis many a long week since I have rested so well, madam," answered Harrison, coming forward to greet her. "Methinks you have some spell by which you strew pleasant dreams on the pillows you make ready for your guests." She laughed. "Well said; you pass compliments as nimbly as a courtier! And, now, if you will but help me empty John's milk-pails into the dairy-pans you shall taste farmhouse bread and butter for your wages." "But have you no help in this work?" asked Harrison, as he lifted the heavy pails from the doorstep. "Why, no! I was a fine lady till two years ago, but when fortune changes one is like to change with it. And so you find me a dairywoman!" "But, pardon me, surely your father cannot know it? He cannot know you are working thus, and enduring the life of a peasant?"