Bob said drearily that likely his father knew his own business best. His own belief in the ultimate rightness of things had long since gone by the board, and he found it strange that Kit’s should be lingering still. The artist’s faith that yet all things shall be well had flamed for only a period in Bob. Marget had soon set herself to work to trample it out. Yet here was old Kit still brandishing the torch. But then Kit had only suffered for the space of a couple of years. In spite of his admission, however, he seemed unable to let the subject drop. It was almost as if Marget must be whispering into his ear. “You’ll think on Marget said you could come back?” he wandered on. “She’s likely taken to you a deal better than I thought. If happen you don’t feel like settling at the farm, you’ve nobbut to say the word and come back.” “I’ll settle, thank ye,” Kit said. “I will that.” Bob ought to have known, he thought, that it was simply a waste of time to talk like that. Marget was an outsider, of course, but Bob had once belonged. “Don’t fret yourself,” he said. “I’ll settle all right. I’ll bide.” “Farm’s that smart it don’t know itself,” Bob said, “what wi’ new paint and paper and furniture as good as Squire’s. What, there’s a rug afore t’kitchen fire as’d likely make a carpet at our spot, I’m sure! There’s curtains to all the winders—some on ’em real lace; and parlour’s over grand to set in by a deal. They’ve been to a sight o’ pains fixing your old room an’ all. You’d think as the King hisself was coming to stop on the marsh.” Kit listened to him, but only with half an ear, wondering why Bob should suddenly have so much to say. He knew nothing about the house of which Bob spoke, and didn’t want to know anything, if it came to that. The house he was going to see to-day was quite a different spot. It was empty and shabby and rather short of brass, but it was full of the soft tones that make for peace. There was no colour in it that the sun had never kissed, or wood that the years had not mellowed in its place. The worn surfaces knew his hand, and the uneven flooring had never troubled his feet. What, there was a sunk flag at the kitchen door that had never tripped his toe in fifty years!... “Thomas mun ha’ done well for himself,” Bob was drawling at his side. “He mun ha’ laid by a deal more than we ever thought. I reckon he could ha’ taken the farm all right yon time as they went and turned you out. But they said the lass wasn’t for wedding him just then, and he was feared he’d loss her if he come away. She should think shame of herself, she should, for putting us all about.” “Nay, nay,” Kit put in, “she did right to take her time. It’s an easy enough business getting wed, but none so easy to bear wi’ when it’s done. And she’s a good lass, they say, for all she give him sneck-posset at the start. She’ll do well for me, Thomas said; she’ll see to me like her own. I reckon I waint come off so badly, after all.”