“I did used to keep the garden terrible nice,” the old man said, seeing her gray eyes look through the door into the sunny wilderness. “But there! missis is gone! I’ll show you her earrings.” He hobbled away into the adjoining room. Pamela heard him jingling metal and scrooping wooden furniture over the flag floor. Presently he came out with a card-board box shaking in his hand. He took the lid off reverently and held out the open box. A pair of earrings, of very pale gold, such as you can buy at fairs for a trifle, were on a bed of tissue paper. “Very pretty,” the girl said lamely. Jethro had gone outside. He was viewing the neglected fruit-trees severely. “And there’s one more thing I must show you.” Mansell hobbled away, up the crazy stairs this time, and came back with a snow-white smock, which he thrust into her hands. “Missis made this for me to be married in.” He stuck his foolish red face forward and grinned more widely. “She put her best work into it. Lord bless you, when I was but a boy--I’m seventy-nine come October--we used to go to church on Sundays, every man in his clean smock. Missis did it. She was a rare one at her needle.” Pamela looked at the exquisite, delicate stitching. The whole heart of that dead woman was woven into the diamonds and honeycombs and lattices of the wedding smock. “Very pretty,” she said lamely again. “I must get to Liddleshorn before ten,” Jethro cried out from the garden. She stepped into the sun, Mansell behind her. He followed them to the gate, seeming pathetically anxious to hold on to human companionship as long as he could. A sheep-dog came running out from the barn. Pamela, who was distrustful of dogs, felt glad that she was in the cart. “He won’t bite, bless you; he’s too old. But when he was young he _was_ s’ savage. Missis used to set one side of the fire winter nights, and I used to set the other. And she, just for fun, used to say to me, ‘Oh, dear,’ and I used to say, ‘Oh, dear.’ You should have heard him growl. He was s’ savage you durstn’t move or speak.” Jethro gathered the reins with an air of business. “You must get out of this,” he advised, with curt good nature. “I suppose I must. Yet I’d like to stop on. Yet since missis died everything’s gone to pieces. I used to get such good living--fresh butter and new-laid eggs. I can churn myself, but no one seems to care for my butter. Don’t know why; there was a great call for missis’s.” “Well, good-by to you,” said Jethro, with masculine intolerance of his whimpering garrulity. “Good-by and God bless you. Take care of yourselves. Come and see me again.” His bleared blue eyes were turned pleadingly on Pamela. “And, Master Jayne”--he looked from one to the other, and his shrill voice quavered childishly--“when you gets a missis may you never lose her. A man’s no good without a missis.” The cart moved on. Presently Pamela said softly, “Poor old thing! he made me feel quite miserable.”