“That they do!” agreed his spouse heartily, standing upright, and straightening her broad back. She looked half absently up and down the sloping village street, which lay deep in shadow, save at the uppermost end, where the gables of the thatched houses were bathed in the evening glow, the light falling full upon the whitewashed chimney-stack of the little hostelry known as the “Pure Drop,” and creeping downwards along the irregular line of roofs until it terminated abruptly just where Mrs. Fripp’s wash-house jutted out into the street. Seen thus at this mystic hour there was much beauty about the little hamlet, which, indeed, at any time had a quaint charm of its own. The eaves of many of the roofs sloped downwards at certain points almost to the ground, overhanging here a mullioned window, and bulging out there into a minute and fantastically shaped gable. Creepers clung close to the whitewashed walls, hollyhocks stood in many a homely garden with the stateliness they might better have assumed in the pleasaunce of a queen; pigeons bowed and cooed on the sunlit apex of russet roof or golden stack; children played about the doorsteps or made pies of the dust in the road. But Mrs. Fripp gazed on these things indifferently, her glance having fixed itself on a tall, angular woman’s figure which was at that moment travelling slowly towards her. “’Tis never Mrs. Adlam steppin’ this way—come to look after Susan, I d’ ’low. Them two girls hey been gossipin’ in there this hour an’ more.” “It’ll be about Tom Locke, I’ll warrant, that they’re a-talkin’,” agreed her lord, the black pipe wagging with every word, and being sucked at the conclusion of the sentence with evident relish. “Aye, aye; maids will get talkin’ about sweethearts an’ that. ’Tis naitral at their age, an’ this accident o’ pore Tom’s is oncommon onfart’nate. Good-day, Mrs. Adlam, ’tis powerful warm, ’tis, surely.” “Yes, yes,” agreed Mrs. Adlam hurriedly and abstractedly. “Good-day to ye, Mr. Fripp. Is Susan within?” “Aye,” said Mr. Fripp, without moving his form from the door-post, “she’s sittin’ a bit wi’ our Lizzie. Our maid’s jest foldin’ a few clothes for her mother to iron to-morrow, an’ Susan’s sittin’ wi’ her.” “Ah, neighbour, your Lizzie’s wonderful handy, they say,” responded Mrs. Adlam—without enthusiasm, however. “Now, my maid’s that delicate an’ nervous like, she’s no use at all at home, I may say. I’ve had to have doctor to her times an’ times, but ’tis no manner o’ use. She can’t do many things for herself, pore maid; an’ she can scarce abear to see me a-doin’ of ’em. ’Tis a nesh flower, neighbours. Why, she d’ run out o’ the room when I put our bit o’ beef of a Sunday to the fire, an’ she d’ very near faint if I go for to skin a rabbit.” “Well, to think on’t!” said Mr. and Mrs. Fripp together, commiseratingly, but admiringly, too. Such a constitution as Susan’s was felt to be a credit to any village.