But all things come to those who wait, and on this August afternoon the slippery carpenter was fairly caught, like one of his own silly fish; but whether she succeeded in landing her prize or not remains to be told. Apparently he did not suspect that there were strangers in the cottage--some prearranged signal had failed to work, or someone had blundered; anyhow he walked unconcernedly into the room, and seemed greatly surprised to find it occupied by two lady visitors. Mrs. Churton sat with a book in her hand, gently explaining some difficult point to his wife; while at some distance Fan was carrying on a whispered conversation with her little friend Billy. The child sprung up with such sudden violence that he almost capsized her low chair, and rushing to his father embraced his legs. With a glance at his wife, expressing mild reproach and a resolution to make the best of it, he saluted his visitors, then deposited his bag of tools on the floor. Cawood was a Londoner, who had come down to do some work on a large house in the neighbourhood, and there “met his fate” in the person of a pretty Eyethorne girl, whom he straightway married; then, finding that there was room for him, and good fishing to be had, he elected to stay in his wife's village among her own people. He was a well-set-up man of about thirty-five, with that quiet, self-contained, thoughtful look in his countenance which is not infrequently seen in the London artisan--a face expressing firmness and intelligence, with a mixture of _bonhomie_, which made it a pleasant study. “I am glad you have come in,” said the visitor. “I have been wishing to see you for a long time, but have not succeeded in finding you at home.” “Thank you, ma'am; it's very kind of you to come and see my wife. She often speaks of your visits. Also of the young lady's”; and here he looked at Fan with a pleasant smile. “Yes; your wife is very good. I knew her before you did, Mr. Cawood; I have held her in my arms when she was a baby, and have known her well up till now when she is having babies of her own.” “And very good things to have, ma'am--in moderation,” he remarked, with a twinkle in his eye. “And since she makes you so good a wife, don't you think you ought to comply with her wishes in some things?” “Why, yes, ma'am, certainly I ought; and what's more, I do. We get on amazingly well together, considering that we are man and wife,” and with a slight laugh he sat down. Mrs. Churton winced a little, thinking for the moment that he had made a covert allusion to the state of her own domestic relations; but after a glance at his open genial face, she dismissed the suspicion and returned to the charge. “I know you are happy together, and it speaks well for both of you. But we do not see you at church, Mr. Cawood. Your wife has often promised me to beg you to go with her; if she has done so you have surely not complied in this case.”