During the last items on the programme--two vociferous glees rendered by a stage-full of people packed so tightly that it was marvellous how they expanded their diaphragms--Edward was in anguish of mind lest the cornet should monopolize Hazel at supper. The said cornet had become several shades more purple each time Hazel sang, so Edward was prepared for the worst. He was determined to make a struggle for it, and felt that though his position denied him the privilege of scuffling, he might at least use finesse--that has never been denied to any Church. 'My dear,' whispered Mrs. Marston, 'have you an unwelcome guest?' This was her polite way of indicating a flea. 'No, mother.' 'Well, dear, there must be something preying on your mind; you have kept up such a feeling of uneasiness that I have hardly had any nap at all.' 'What do you think of her, mother?' 'Who, dear?' 'The beautiful girl.' 'A pretty tune, the first she sang,' said Mrs. Marston, not having heard the others. 'But such wild manners and such hair! Like pussy stroked the wrong way. And there is something a little peculiar about her, for when she sings about heaven it seems somehow improper, and that,' she added drowsily, 'heaven hardly _should_ do.' Edward understood what she meant. He had been conscious himself of something desperately exciting in the bearing of Hazel Woodus--something that penetrated the underworld which lay like a covered well within him, and, like a ray of light, set all kinds of unsuspected life moving and developing there. As supper went on Edward kept more and more of Hazel's attention, and the quiet grey eyes met the restless amber ones more often. 'If I came some day--soon--to your home, would you sing to me?' he asked. 'I couldna. I'm promised for the bark-stripping.' 'What's that?' Hazel looked at him pityingly. 'Dunna you know what that is?' 'I'm afraid not.' 'It's fetching the bark off'n the failed trees ready for lugging.' 'Where are the felled trees?' 'Hunter's Spinney.' 'That's close here.' 'Ah.' Edward was deep in thought. The cornet whispered to Hazel: 'Making up next Sunday's sermon!' But Edward turned round disconcertingly. 'As it's on your way, why not come to tea with mother? I might be out, but you wouldn't mind that?' 'Eh, but I should! I dunna want to talk to an old lady!' 'I'll stop at home,' then, he replied, very much amused, and with a look of quiet triumph at the cornet. 'Which day?' 'Wednesday week's the first.' 'Come Wednesday, then.' 'What'll the old sleepy lady say?' 'My mother,' he said with dignity, 'will approve of anything I think right.'