"I'll call and thank him," interrupted the Squire. "I am proud to shake hands with such a man as that." "You cannot," she said; "he and his wife have gone abroad. A great misfortune has lately befallen them." "A great misfortune! What was it?" I noticed a sort of cloud pass over Mary Blair's face, a hesitation in her manner before she replied. Mrs. Todhetley was sitting by her on the sofa; the Squire was in the armchair opposite them, and I at the table, as I had sat at our tea-dinner. "Mr. Peahern was in business once--a wholesale druggist, I believe; but he made a fortune, and retired some years ago," began Mary. "Mrs. Peahern has bad health and is a little lame. She was very kind to me also--very good and kind indeed. They had one son--no other children; I think he was studying for the Bar; I am not sure; but he lived in London, and came down here occasionally. My young maid-servant, Susan, got acquainted with their servants, and she gathered from their gossip that he, Edmund Peahern, a very handsome young man, was in some way a trouble to his parents. He was down at Easter, and stayed three weeks; and in May he came down again. What happened I don't know; I believe there was some scene with his father the day he arrived; anyway, Mr. Peahern was heard talking angrily to him; and that night he--he died." She had dropped her voice to a whisper. The Squire spoke. "Died! Was it a natural death?" "No. A jury decided that he was insane; and he was buried here in the churchyard. Such a heap of claims and debts came to light, it was said. Mr. Peahern left his lawyer to pay them all, and went abroad with his poor wife for change of scene. It has been a great grief to me. I feel so sorry for them." "Then, is the house shut up?" "No. Two servants are left in it--the two housemaids. The cook, who had lived with them five and twenty years and was dreadfully affected at the calamity, went with her mistress. Nice, good-natured young women are these two that are left, running in most days to ask if they can do anything for me." "It is good to have such neighbours," said the Squire. "And I hope you'll get on, my dear. How came you to be at this place at all?" "It was through Mr. Lockett," she answered--the clergyman who had been so much with her husband before he died, and who had kept up a correspondence with her. Mr. Lockett's brother was in practice as a doctor at Saltwater, and they thought she might perhaps do well if she came to it. So Mary's friends had screwed a point or two to put her into the house, and gave her besides a ten-pound note to start with. * * * * * "I tell you what it is, young Joe: if you run and reve yourself into that scarlet heat, you shan't come here with me again." "But I like to race with the donkeys," replied young Joe. "I can run almost as fast as they, Johnny. I like to see the donkeys." "Wouldn't it be better to ride a donkey, lad?"