“That’s true,” assented the driver cheerily, after due consideration of the point. “Be durned, David, ye’ve a gift o’ common sense. Thought I had the gift, too, till I took to looking for mulberry patches i’ honest people’s faces.” When they neared Shepston, the smith turned for a last look at the hills raking up into the white-hot limestone glare that beat upon the dale he loved. “’Tis good-by, I reckon, lile lass Cilla,” was his thought. Reuben Gaunt had not joined the company that met to give David a farewell at the inn. With all his fickleness, he was not a liar, and he disdained to make a show of friendship, when he knew that there was open enmity. Instead, he remembered that it was Linsall Fair-day, and he walked up the moor to Ghyll Farm. Gaunt found the farm-door open, and stepped in. Peggy Mathewson was busy baking bread, and she looked hot and tired. The heat of the kitchen, the smell of the loaves, drove Gaunt into the shelter of the porch again. “Phew! I thought ’twould be cooler indoors than out, Peggy.” “Did ye? My temper’s not cool, to begin with, Reuben--or should I say ‘Mr. Gaunt’ these days?” “Reuben, I fancy.” “I like to know. Ye change so often, and your station varies so--now marrying proud little Good Intent, and then again bending down to take notice o’ Peggy Mathewson--” “I’ve a cure for your temper, Peggy,” he said, with an easy laugh. “We’ll go to Linsall, and your loaves can wait.” “Why to Linsall?” she asked, with a longing glance at the moor. “Oh, ay, ’tis Fair-day. I’ve nigh forgotten fairs, and ribbons, and sich-like idleness, since you came home again. What wi’ work, an’ what wi’ trying to keep up wi’ your cantrips, Reuben, I’m a busy lass.” He only laughed and switched his leggings with the riding-crop, which from sheer habit he was carrying. The girl’s tongue might be bitter, but her eyes told another tale. “Let’s away, Peggy. A scamper always does you good. As for the baking--” “It’s finished,” she broke in, setting down the last batch of loaves from the oven; “and if it weren’t--why, I fancy I shouldn’t heed.” The old recklessness was in her voice, the old longing for light-heartedness, though under it all she knew that there was grief and heaviness. She went up-stairs and was down again before Gaunt had time to grow impatient. “Shall I shame ye at the Fair?” she demanded, standing frankly for his inspection, her colour heightened, her hands resting on her hips. Reuben noted the red scarf, the touches of colour which she had added deftly here and there to a dress which had seen many fairs and many weathers. No other lass could have worn such colours. They were gypsyish, bold, reckless, like Peggy herself, and they seemed to add to her beauty and her self-assurance. “Shame me?” laughed Reuben. “There’ll be eyes for none but ye at Linsall!”