*It is not important, but their names were Michael, Tom, Oliver, John, Henry, and Charles. And Michael had dark hair and light lashes, and Tom freckles and a snub-nose, and Oliver a mole on his left cheek, and John fine red-gold hair on his bronzed skin; and Henry was merely the Odd-Job Boy whose voice was breaking, so he imagined that it was he alone who ran the farm. But Charles was a dear. He had a tuft of white hair at the back of his dark head, like the cotton-tail of a rabbit, and as well as corduroy breeches he wore a rabbit-skin waistcoat, and he was a great nuisance to gamekeepers, who called him a poacher; whereas all he did was to let the rabbits out of the snares when it was kind to, and destroy the snares. And he used the bring "bunny-rabbits" (which other people call snapdragons) of the loveliest colors to plant in the little garden known as Joan's Corner. I should like to tell you more about Charles (but there isn't time) because I am fond of him. If I hadn't been I shouldn't have let him have Joan. EPILOGUE At cockcrow came the call which in that orchard was now as familiar as the rooster's. "Maids! Maids! Maids!" Martin Pippin was leaning over the green wicket throwing jam tarts to the ducks. Because in the Well-House Gillian had not left so much as a crumb. But when he heard Old Gillman's voice, he flicked a bull's-eye at the drake, getting it very accurately on the bill, and walked across to the gap. "Good morning, master," said Martin cheerfully. "Pray how does Lemon, Joscelyn's Sussex, fare?" Old Gillman put down his loaves with great deliberation, and spent a few minutes taking Martin in. Then he answered, "There's scant milk to a Sussex, and allus will be. And if there was not, there'd be none to Joscelyn's Lemon. And if there was, it would take more than Henry to draw it. And so that's you, is it?" "That's me," said Martin Pippin. "Well," said Old Gillman, "I've spent the best of six mornings trying not to see ye. And has my daughter taken the right road yet?" "Yes, master," said Martin, "she has taken the road to Adversane." "Which SHE'S spent the best of six months trying not to see," said Old Gillman. "Women's a nuisance. Allus for taking the long cut round." "I've known many a short cut," said Martin, "to end in a blind alley." "Well, well, so long as they gets there," grunted Gillman. "And what's this here?" "A pair of steps," said Martin. "What for?" said Gillman. "Milkmaids and milkmen," said Martin. "So they maids have cut too, have they?" "It was a full moon, you see." "I dessay. But if they'd gone by the stile they could have hopped it in the dark six months agone," said Old Gillman. And he got over the stile, which was the other way into the orchard and has not been mentioned till now, and came and clapped Martin on the shoulder. "Women's more trouble," said he, "than they're worth." "They're plenty of trouble," said Martin; "I've never discovered yet what they're worth."