‘My ’usband did say,’ she remarked, negligently scratching her elbows, ‘as Mr. Sharpe seemed very intimate wi’ missus. “My dear,” he says to her. Ah, Stuckhey d’ say as Mr. Sharpe do often call missus “my dear.” And he did say as he seed ’en come walkin’ home wi’ her this arternoon, quite lovin’ like, in a smock-frock, jist the same as if he was in his own place. “Go upstairs, my dear,” says he—’ ‘In his _smock-frock_?’ interrupted Mrs. Paddock eagerly. ‘Were it a new smock-frock, did Mr. Stuckhey say?’ ‘Very like it were,’ replied Mrs. Stuckhey, accommodatingly. ‘My master he bain’t one as takes much notice, and if it had a-been a old one he’d scarce ha’ thought o’ mentionin’ it to me.’ ‘Then you may depend, Mrs. Belbin,’ cried Mrs. Paddock triumphantly, ‘as master be a-coortin’ o’ Widow Fiander! A new smock-frock! ’t is the very thing as a man like he ’ud wear when his thoughts was bent on sich matters! I do mind as my father told me often how he did save an’ save for eleven weeks to buy hisself a new smock to go a-coortin’ my mother in. Ah, wages was terrible low then, and he were n’t a-gettin’ above seven shillin’ a week; but he did manage to put by a shillin’ out o’ that. The smock—it were a white ’un—did cost eleven shillin’, and he did save eleven weeks. And, strange to say, when he and my mother did wed, they did have eleven children.’ Utterly routed by this incontrovertible testimony, Mrs. Belbin withdrew to her own quarters, leaving the other two ragged heads bobbing together in high enjoyment of the delectable piece of gossip. Before the morrow the entire village knew that Farmer Sharpe had arrived at Littlecomb with his arm round Widow Fiander’s waist, that he had spoken to her in the tenderest terms, had avowed his intention of hammering each and every one of her suitors, and had bought himself a brand-new and beautifully embroidered smock-frock for the express purpose of courting her in it. CHAPTER X Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes, Misprising what they look on . . . SHAKESPEARE. THOUGH Isaac Sharpe did not consider himself bound to assist Rosalie in repelling the advances of Mr. Wilson, the auctioneer, the wish she had expressed that someone would be kind enough to ‘drop a hint to him’ had fallen upon other attentive and willing ears. Sam Belbin had laid her words to heart, and only waited for an opportunity of proving his good-will by ridding her of a frequent and unwelcome visitor. His chance came at last, and he was quick to take advantage of it. It was cheese-day, and Rosalie and her maids had prepared such a quantity that their work was not, as usual, finished before dinnertime, and they were still elbow-deep in curds when Mr. Wilson chanced to look in.