“I must do it. I must go off to Pelham Towers afore the last train goes to night,” she said to herself. “But first I’ll just read this telegram from poor Clary.” The telegram was brief. It simply contained a request on the part of Clara that Mrs. Ives would do nothing until she saw her. Mrs. Ives once again dipped her pen in the ink and wrote a telegram to Clara. “Boy gone. Am off now to Pelham Towers to find him. Your mother.” When she got to Falmouth Mrs. Ives sent off this message. She then took a ticket to Haversham, and in course of time was put down at the little wayside station. It was a long walk from there to the Towers, but when her spirit was up the little woman was good for anything. Accordingly she was once more trudging down the avenue when Barbara was returning from Exeter. Barbara had had a successful day, and driving back in the pretty pony carriage with her mother wrapped in furs by her side, she was chatting and laughing gaily. “I do declare,” she said, “there’s that funny little old woman again!” “What little woman, dear?” said Mrs. Evershed. “Her name is Ives. What can she want now?” Barbara pulled up the ponies. She leant out of the carriage. “Good evening, Mrs. Ives,” she said. “Oh, good evening, my pretty young lady,” said Mrs. Ives, dropping her accustomed curtsey. “I’m in a sore bit of trouble, and I’ve come back here thinking perhaps you could help me.” “If I can I will right heartily,” said Barbara. “But you look very tired, and there is plenty of room in the carriage. Please get in.” Mrs. Evershed made a gesture of disapproval, but Barbara could afford to take no notice of her mother. Mrs. Ives interested her. She thought she would like to show the little woman to Dick. Barbara’s heart was full of Dick. She had not been parted from him for so long a time since their marriage. She had a great deal to tell him. “Step in. Take this seat,” said Barbara. Mrs. Ives did so. “I’m mighty obliged. I’m very footsore,” said the little woman. Barbara whipped up the ponies and proceeded at a rapid pace down the avenue. Mrs. Ives sat quite silent, staring full in the face of the pretty young lady. “I can deal her a blow, and, dear heart! I don’t like to do it,” she said to herself. “But after all, what is riches? I ha’ tasted them at my darter’s and they’re a grand mistake. It’s a sight better to live poor and live plain. Yes, that’s what I say—live poor and live plain. Have plain food and a plain bed and cleanliness round you, and you don’t want for nothing. That’s the way to live and have a long life, and no encouraging of stoutness.” As these thoughts flew through Mrs. Ives’s active brain she glanced at Mrs. Evershed, who was decidedly broad and fully developed. Mrs. Ives did not like the grand lady, and did not trouble to look at her again. They presently reached the house. Barbara helped her mother out of the carriage and then turned to Mrs. Ives.