"Oh yes, I understand," he returned good-humouredly; but he was secretly surprised by the quickness with which her commissions were executed. Evidently the ladies of the Wood House were people of consideration to the tradesmen of Earlsfield, for obsequious shopmen stood bowing and smiling on the threshold; and was it his fancy, or was there an added stateliness in the second Miss Templeton's step and carriage as she threaded the pretty little market-place, exchanging greetings with every other person she met? "Now I have finished," she observed presently, "and you and Brown Becky have behaved like a couple of angels." Then she chanted merrily, "Oh, who will o'er the downs with me?" and Malcolm turned the mare's head in the direction she pointed out. It had been very hot in the market-place, but when they had gained the open down a honey-sweet wind blew refreshingly in their faces, and not only the moorland but the roadside was clothed with the purpling heather. Malcolm checked the mare involuntarily, and sat silently feasting his eyes on the glorious colouring before him. "No Tyrian garment could equal that," he said half to himself. Elizabeth looked at him curiously. "I thought you would like it," she returned, well pleased by his rapt admiration of her favourite view. "Like it! I only wish I had Keston here; but if I am a living man I will bring him and Verity too. What a grand old world it is after all, Miss Templeton, though we do our best to spoil it." "Ah, you are right there," and Elizabeth's voice was a little sad. "Don't you remember what Clough says?" continued Malcolm quietly: 'The work-day burden of dull life About the footsore flags of a weary world.' We all have our pedlar's pack to carry through Vanity Fair; but how good for us to turn aside into some of Nature's holy places which she keeps so fair and sweet and untainted, and to take a long draught of the elixir of life!" "Mr. Herrick, do you ever write poetry?" Malcolm shook his head. "No," he said regretfully. "One day, if you care to hear it, I will tell you the story of an impotent genius." "An impotent genius?" It was evident that Elizabeth was puzzled, but then she had only known Malcolm Herrick five days. Malcolm nodded gravely. "The story of a man who was halt and maimed and crippled from his birth--a tongue-tied poet and a paralysed artist. The story is a sad one, Miss Templeton, but it will keep." Elizabeth's eyes danced with amusement. She began to have an idea of his meaning. "I rather think you are a humourist, Mr. Herrick." And then Malcolm laughed, and after that they fell into quite an interesting conversation. Elizabeth turned the subject to her own ignorance, and begged Malcolm to tell her what books she ought to read.