Will sat on stolidly, helping himself to more tea and pouring the milk into the slop-basin. Presently Caleb returned, announcing that Jinny had brought something for Will—she could only legally deliver it to Mr. Flynt, junior, she said. Will turned redder than at the egg-talk. “But I never ordered anything,” he said. “You can’t prewent folks sendin’ you presents, same as they’re foolish enough,” Caleb reminded him. A fantastic fear that the blue-eyed girl of the train was discharging some proof of devotion at him made him drum nervously with his teaspoon. “But who knows I’m back home?” he answered Caleb. Through the open house-door came the gay strains of a fresh young voice: “_But still he’d sing fol de rol iddle ol!_” “Don’t she sing pritty?” sighed Caleb. “I’d sooner hear her singing about Zion,” said Martha. “She’s rather flighty, to my thinking.” “That’s the first time Oi heard ye say a word agen Jinny,” said Caleb, “leastways behind her back.” Will, tingling between the two tortures—the song without and the table-talk within—sprang up brusquely. “Drat the girl—my tea’ll get cold. Sit down, dad, I’ll see what she’s brought.” II Jinny sat stiffly on her seat, Nip clasped in her arms. The singing had ceased. Despite himself Will felt an odd pleasure in the sight of the trim figure so competently poised above Methusalem, and he was touched to note Nip’s tail agitating itself amicably at the sight of him. “Good evening,” she said politely. “I am glad to see it has not developed.” “What hasn’t developed?” “Your hydrophobia. And I am keeping the dog tight, you notice.” He winced. “Oh, I’m not afraid of him.” “But I am—he’s already bitten you once: get the cages, please, while I hold him.” “The cages?” He had a confused idea that Nip was to be caged, was dangerous after all. “They’re near the tail-board. Nothing to pay.” He went behind the cart, wondering, semi-incredulous; did indeed perceive a couple of cages in the dusk, and reaching for one, drew back his hand in a hurry from some darting, snapping, creamy, pink-eyed yellowness. “Oh!” he cried involuntarily. “What’s the matter? Oh, I had forgotten they bite too.” “What is this practical joke?” he cried angrily. “Eh?” said Jinny. “Didn’t you order a pair of ferrets to be sent by the Carrier?” His eyes grew wide. “I beg your pardon—I’d quite forgotten.” “I thought Deacon Mawhood wasn’t a likely joker. Polecats, he said. Have you got the cages?” she asked, not looking back. “I’m—I’m getting them,” he stammered, and began cautiously haling them towards him. “The Deacon asked me to say the hob and the jill must be kept apart.” “I know,” he grunted, almost as shocked as over her mention of Maria’s litter. The impudicity of her calling was again borne in on him. “Anything else?” burst from him sardonically. “No—except there’s no need to cope them. I don’t know what coping is.”