“Oh, summat about the ’opes of a glorious resurrection,” returned Mrs. Sibley scornfully. “An’ another time I says to ’en, ‘Mr. Foyle,’ I says, ‘d’ye mind the talk what you an’ me did have when you first did ax I to keep house for ye?’ ‘What talk,’ says he. ‘Why,’ I says, ‘about me bein’ free an’ you makin’ a good husband.’ ‘Free,’ says he sighin’; ‘this life’s a bondage, Mrs. Sibley.’ An’ off he went.” “Ah!” commented Mrs. Fry, “he wer’ thinkin’ o’ them verses what’s wrote on old Farmer Reed’s tombstone. I mind they do begin this way:-- ‘This life is but a bondage, My soul at last is free.’” “That’s it,” agreed Mrs. Sibley nodding. “I says to ’en this marnin’, ‘Mr. Foyle,’ I says, ‘the New Year’s a-comin’, an’ I think there ought to be some change in the early part of it for you an’ me.’ ‘I don’t want no changes,’ he says; ‘I’m very well satisfied as I be.’ I’m gettin’ desperate, Mrs. Fry.” “Well, ’tis very onconsiderate,” returned Martha, “very. I’m sure ye’ve said all ye could an’ done all ye could. ’Tis hard, too, for a woman to have to go a-droppin’ hints an’ a-takin’ the lead in such a delicate matter. I’m sure I don’t know what to advise, my dear.” Mrs. Sibley rubbed her nose, and gazed at her friend meditatively. “I’m about the only ’ooman in this ’ere place as Foyle could get to keep house for him,” she remarked. “I’ll tell ’ee what I’ll do, Mrs. Fry--I’ll march! Leastways,” she added, correcting herself, “I’ll tell ’en I be goin’. We’ll see how he’ll like that.” “Ye mid try it,” said Martha reflectively; “it ’ud be a bit ark’ard, though, if he was to take ’ee at your word.” “He’ll not do that,” returned Mrs. Sibley, continuing emphatically: “Now, Mrs. Fry, my dear, I’ll expect ’ee to act the part of a friend by me. If he do ax ye to lend ’en a hand or send over Selina to help ’en, don’t ye go for to do no such thing.” “I won’t,” promised Mrs. Fry. “An’ if he do say anything to ’ee about my leavin’, do ye jist let on as my mind be quite made up.” “I will,” said Mrs. Fry. “I’ll start packin’ at once then, to show ’en as I be in earnest,” said Mrs. Sibley, with a dry chuckle as her friend rose. No sooner had Mrs. Fry edged through the narrow door with her market-basket than Mrs. Sibley set to work. When Mr. Foyle, who united the double functions of carrier and sexton, unhitched the horse from his van, and, having seen to the animal’s comfort, went indoors, he was surprised to find his children, who had preceded him into the house, standing with scared faces round the packing-case, which occupied the centre of the kitchen, while Mrs. Sibley, with an air of great determination, was stowing away various articles therein. “Hullo!” cried he, pausing in the doorway. “What’s the matter here? Isn’t tea ready?”