She drew from her pocket a little blue paper of familiar aspect; the demand-note for the rates collected four times a year by the Overseers of the Branstone Union. The angry colour glowed in Jacob Fowler’s face as he twitched the paper from her hand. “What’s the meaning of this?” he cried; “what have you got to do with it?” “I am Isaac Masters’ daughter, of Little Branstone,” she said hastily. “He collects the rates for our parish, but he’s very ill in bed. He’s had a stroke, poor Father has, and I’m doing his work for him.” “He should have known better than to send you to me,” returned Jacob, still wrathfully. “I never heard sich a tale i’ my life. Sendin’ a maid to collect the rates! Dally! Where will the women-folk stop?” “Nobody else made any objection,” said the girl, with a little toss of her head. “I’ve got it all right, except yours; and Father thought I’d best come and ask for it.” “Then you can tell your father as he did make a very great mistake,” thundered Fowler. “’Tis bad enough to be bothered about they dalled rates wi’out havin’ a woman set up over you.” He tore the paper into fragments as he spoke, scattering them to the breeze. “There, you jist turn about and go home-along, my maid, and tell your father that’s my answer. If your father bain’t fit to do his work hissel’, he did ought to get somebody else to do it for ’en--some other man. The notion o’ sendin’ a maid! I never did hear o’ sich a piece o’ cheek!” The girl, without waiting for the end of his indignant commentary, had turned about as he had advised, and was now walking swiftly away, her head held very high, angry tears on her thick lashes. Jacob impatiently jerked out his watch; it wanted still ten minutes of the time when work would have to be resumed. He dropped the watch into his pocket again, whistling under his breath, a good deal out of tune. Once more fragments of the men’s talk reached his unwilling ears. “That be Bethia Masters, that be--a wonderful good maid. They d’ say the wold man ’ud be fair lost wi’out her. The Parish Council did give her leave to take his place for a bit so long as there was a chance he mid get better.” “She be a shapely maid and a vitty one.” “E-es, she’s well enough; looks a bit tired now, walkin’ i’ the heat three mile here and three mile back.” “E-es, and a sarcin’ at the end o’t,” chuckled one old fellow under his breath. “Our maister, he did gi’ ’t to her! I heerd ’en. Our maister bain’t partial to payin’ rates at any time, and he didn’t reckon for to hand over his money to a ’ooman.”