venerable countenance was radiant,--his few remaining tufts of white hair glistened in the sun like spun silver,--his figure in its homely smock, leaning on the rough ash stick, expressed in its very attitude benevolence and good-humour, and 'the purtiest little legs' had evidently conjured up a vision of childish grace and innocence before his eyes, which he was loth to let go. "She was took away arter the old Squire was killed, worn't she?" asked Bainton, who was drinking in all the information he could, in order to have something to talk about to his master, when the opportunity offered itself. "Ay! ay! She was took away," replied Josey, his smile darkening into a shadow of weariness; "The Squire's neck was broke with Firefly-- every man, woman and child knows that about here--an' then 'is brother came along, 'im wot 'ad married a 'Merican wife wi' millions, an' 'adn't got no children of their own. An' they took the gel away with 'em--a purty little slip of about fifteen then, with great big eyes and a lot of bright 'air;--don't none of ye remember 'er?" Mr. Buggins shook his head. "'Twas afore my time," he said. "I ain't had the 'Mother Huff' more'n eight years." "I seed 'er once," said Bainton--"but onny once--that was when I was workin' for the Squire as extra 'and. But I disremember 'er face.'' "Then ye never looked at it," said Josey, with a chuckle; "or bein' made man ye wouldn't 'ave forgot it. Howsomever, it's 'ears ago an' she's a woman growed--she ain't been near the place all this time, which shows as 'ow she don't care about it, bein' took up with 'er 'Merican aunt and the millions. An' she'd got a nice little penny of 'er own, too, for the old Squire left 'er all he 'ad, an' she was to come into it all when she was of age. An' now she's past bein' of age, a woman of six-an'-twenty,--an' 'er rich uncle's dead, they say, so I suppose she an' the 'Merican aunt can't work it out together. Eh, dear! Well, well! Changes there must be, and changes there will be, and if the Five Sisters is a-comin' down, then there's ill-luck brewin' for the village, an' for every man, woman and child in it! Mark my wurrd!" And he resumed his hobbling trudge, shaking his head dolefully. "Don't say that, Josey!" murmured one of the women with a little shudder; "You didn't ought to talk about ill-luck. Don't ye know it's onlucky to talk about ill-luck?"