Grandfather Iden permitted the butler to steer him through the crowd quietly enough, because it flattered him to be thus taken care of before the world by a Pamment servitor. When they parted at the doorstep he slipped half-a-sovereign in the butler's hand--he could not offer less than gold to a Pamments' man--but once inside, his demeanour changed. He pushed away his housekeeper, went into his especial sitting-room, bolted the door, spread his hands and knees over the fire, and poked the coals, grunted, poked, and stirred till smoke and smuts filled the stuffy little place. By-and-by there was a banging of drawers--the drawers in the bureau and the bookcases were opened and shut sharply--writing-paper was flung on the table, and he sat down to write a letter with a scratchy quill pen. The letter written was ordered to post immediately, and the poking, and stirring, and grunting recommenced. Thus there was tribulation in the house of the head of the Idens. Amaryllis meantime had got through the town by keeping between the booths and the houses. Just as she left the last street Ned Marks rode up--he had been on the watch, thinking to talk with her as she walked home, but just as he drew rein to go slow and so speak, a heathen pig from the market rushed between his horse's legs and spoiled the game by throwing him headlong. She did not see, or at least did not notice, but hastening on, entered the fields. In coming to town that morning she had seen everything; now, returning in her anger and annoyance, she took no heed of anything; she was so absorbed that when a man--one of those she met going to the fair for the evening--turned back and followed her some way, she did not observe him. Finding that she walked steadily on, the fellow soon ceased to pursue. The gloom had settled when she reached home, and the candles were lit. She gave her father the sovereign, and was leaving the room, hoping to escape questioning, when Mrs. Iden asked who had the prize-guinea. "I did," said Amaryllis, very quietly and reluctantly. "Where is it? Why didn't you say so? Let me see," said Mrs. Iden. "I--I--I lost it," said Amaryllis. "You lost it! Lost a guinea! A spade-guinea!" "What!" said Iden in his sternest tones. "Show it immediately." "I can't; I lost it." "Lost it!" And they poured upon her a cross-fire of anger: a careless, wasteful hussy, an idle wretch; what did she do for her living that she could throw away spade-guineas? what would her grandfather say? how did she suppose they were to keep her, and she not earn the value of a bonnet-string? time she was apprenticed to a dressmaker; the quantity she ate, and never could touch any fat--dear me, so fine--bacon was not good enough for her--she could throw away spade-guineas.