Mr. Page had recovered from his stroke: but he would never be good for anything again. He was very much changed; would sit for hours and never speak: at times his daughters thought him a little silly, as if his intellect were failing. Miss Page, with John Drench's help, managed the farm: though she always made it a point of duty to consult her father and ask for his orders. In the month of June they heard again from Mr. Marcus Allen. He wrote to say that he was sorry not to fulfil his promise (made in the winter's visit) of coming to stay with them during the time of hay-making, but he was busy finishing a painting and could not leave it: he hoped to come at some other time. And this was now December. Susan Page worked on: John Drench looked out of the window. The young lady was determined not to break the silence. "The Dunn Farm is to let," said he suddenly. "Is it?" slightingly returned Miss Susan. "My father has some thoughts of taking it for me. It's good land." "No better than other land about here." "It's very good, Susan. And just the place I should like. There's an excellent house too, on it." Susan Page began rummaging in the deep drawer of the work-table for her box of buttons. She had a great mind to hum a tune. "But I couldn't take it, or let father take it for me, unless you'd promise to go to it with me, Susan." "Promise to go to it with you, John Drench!" "I'd make you as good a husband as I know how. Perhaps you'll think of it." No answer. She was doubling her thread to sew on the button. "_Will_ you think of it, Miss Susan?" "Well--yes, I will," she said in a softer tone, "And if I decide to bring my mind to have you, John Drench, I'll hope to make you a good and faithful wife." He held out his hand to shake hers upon the bargain. Their eyes met in kindliness: and John Drench knew that the Dunn Farm would have its mistress. * * * * * We were going to dress the church this year as we did the last. Clerk Bumford's cough was bad, and the old sexton was laid by as usual. Tod and I got to the church early in the afternoon, and saw the Miss Pages wading their way through the coppice, over their ankles in snow: the one lady having finished her cake-making and the other her shirt-mending. "Is Leek not here yet?" cried they in surprise. "We need not have made so much haste." Leek with his large truck of holly was somewhere on the road. He had started, as Miss Page said, while they were at dinner. And he was not to be seen! "It is all through his obstinacy," cried Susan. "I told him he had better take the highway, though it was a little further round; but he said he knew he could well get through the little valley. That's where he has stuck, truck and all."