Monday.--Even to the most casual observer the day of the week would have been announced by the appearance of the rambling village; the new-budding hedges were remorselessly weighted with household gear, fresh from the tub; the very grassplots were whitened with the same; but the gooseberry bushes were as yet unadorned with extraneous trophies, for as every one knows, a thrifty rustic housewife relegates the washing and “getting up” of fine things to Tuesdays. The orchard of that popular house of entertainment, known as “The Three Choughs,” the weather-beaten sign of which bore the partly obliterated presentment of a triplet of birds unknown to naturalists--the orchard of “The Three Choughs,” I say, was no exception to the general rule. From the gnarled branches of pear- and plum-tree depended many wavering tokens of Mrs. Cluett’s industry; the clothes lines were weighted with the like; and Alice, her rosy-cheeked daughter, went periodically to and fro from wash-house to hedge with a basket poised on one sturdy hip, or, for the sake of variety, set jauntily aloft on her curly head. The bar was left to take care of itself; at that hour callers were unlikely. Noontide was past, evening had not yet come; if any stray wagoner or chance bicyclist were in need of refreshment he had but to uplift his voice, or to knock on the worn panels of the door leading from the taproom to Mrs. Cluett’s private premises. Many succeeding generations of knuckles had, indeed, removed the last vestige of paint from the panels in question, and indued them with a fine mellow tint of their own. Nevertheless Mrs. Cluett was enjoying herself so much in the midst of her suds, so thoroughly absorbed in soaping and kneading and wringing, that such a summons was thrice repeated without effect; and it was not until Alice, returning from one of her expeditions to the hedge, chanced to glance casually at the taproom window that the impatient customer contrived to attract attention. Seeing a man’s face peering discontentedly through the latticed panes, and hearing a corresponding voice repeatedly shouting, Alice set down her basket and hurried into the house. “We don’t often have no one callin’ at this time o’ day,” she remarked with a pleasant smile, by way of greeting. The man gave his order for a pint of beer without noticing the intended apology, and dropped into one of the wooden chairs allotted to customers. Alice glanced at him askance as she set jug and glass before him. A tall young fellow, not more than twenty-five, with a face browned by sun and wind till it was as dark as a gipsy’s, thick, black hair, good features, and the strangest eyes that the girl had ever beheld in a human face. They were like hawk’s eyes, keen and clear, and with that fixed, far-away look peculiar to the eyes of a bird or beast of prey. Yet the man’s face was not a cruel face, and by-and-by, meeting Alice’s questioning gaze, he smiled hesitatingly.