For days after hearing it her good friend could think of nothing but Jennifer's story. His own gifts to the new chapel and that of the others seemed poor and little beside her offering--it was the mite which was more than they all had given. He felt that he could not rest until he had found for her something better than the ill-paid toil in the fields. As he rode on his way he chanced to see a notice announcing the sale of a coppice of some twenty acres, freehold. Here was the opportunity of serving Jennifer, and at once he made haste to avail himself of it. The bit of ground was bought, coppice and all. Then he made his way to her house. [Illustration] It was seldom that any one passed her cottage, and when he saw it he was distressed and ashamed that he had not done anything for her before. Jennifer had just got home, tired and wet and cold. He came into the cheerless place and sat down. "I had no idea that your cottage was in such a wretched state, Jennifer; I wonder you could live in it," he began. "Well, 'tis wonderful how comfortable we do get on in it, sir." And Jennifer spoke as cheerfully as ever. "I s'pose if it was better we should have to pay more, so we must set one thing against another, you know." "Well, I am going to build you another--a new one; I have made up my mind to that. And look, Jennifer, you shall have it for your own as soon as I can get it up, and you can pay me for it." "I daresay, sir," laughed Jennifer, and she wondered that her friend could seem to joke on such a subject. "But I mean it," said he, "and, of course, I am going to put you in the way to do it." "Thank you, sir," said Jennifer, quite unable to see any meaning in the promise. "You see, there's the Guardians, what will they say and all if I do go living in a fine new house?" "The Guardians! Oh, you must go and tell them that you don't want any more of their money or their loaf either." "But, sir," said Jennifer, trying to laugh, yet almost too bewildered to succeed, "half crowns and loaves of bread won't grow out of a new house any more than an old one, you know." "Well, Jennifer, that is what I have come to see you about. Your boys are growing up quite big lads now. What are you going to do with them? What are they--twelve or thirteen years old at least?" "Just about, sir. I have given them so much head learning as I can. I suppose they must be going out for to do something; but there, 'tis terrible hard for to think about their going away." "Oh, but I don't think they need go away, Jennifer. I have come to tell you that I have bought that piece of coppice over there. Now, what I have been thinking is this. You and your boys can cut it all down, and make up the faggots with the underwood, and sell it for what it will fetch. That shall go toward the new cottage. And when the land is cleared I will let it to you, and the boys can turn it into potato ground."