Five days later Gaunt returned to Garth. He came by the morning mail-coach, and sat by Will the Driver’s side, and asked as many questions regarding the health of Garth folk as if he had been absent for a year. “Oh, they’ve ’scaped fever right enough,” said Will, trying to answer all his questions at once. “They’re a bit scared still, but forgetting all such rubbish. Widow Lister’s hale and hearty--ay, just a shade too hale and hearty. Billy is laking at the forge, an’ doing as much real work as David did, an’ willun’t take a penny for ’t. Has made a box, he, an’ tells all folk to put their silly money in through the slit and let it bide there till David comes again. He has no use for money, he--lile, wise lad as he is.” “And Widow Mathewson?” asked Gaunt. Driver Will knew well enough what news the other was seeking; it was common knowledge now that Peggy o’ Mathewson’s and Gaunt had been “asked” three times at church. For that reason Will concealed his knowledge, as if it were a crime, and affected a fine ignorance as he flicked his team with the whip. “Oh, she’s well enough, or was a few days since. Have not seen Peggy or th’ widow since Monday last. Terrible home-bird folk, both on ’em. I liken ’em always i’ my mind to a brace o’ nesting grouse, so shy an’ fierce an’ prideful as they are.” Gaunt asked for no more news until the coach rounded the curve that brought him within two miles of Garth. “And Miss Priscilla?” The driver gave him a shrewd, hasty glance. “Oh, well enough. She never alters--a breath o’ rosemary along the dusty road. Wish I’d been born a lile thought higher in station, and could cast my eyes that way. There never were two made like Miss Good Intent. And there she is, by that token, walking just ahead.” “You can put me down,” said Gaunt. Driver Will wasted little time in stopping and in starting off again. He greeted Priscilla with a friendly, courteous salute when a moment later he passed her on the road; and then he touched his horses’ ears with a gentle whip that spoke of deep reflection on his part. Will had leisure for reflection during those long drives between Shepston and the remote hamlet that ended his twenty-mile journey, and it was second nature to him now to piece together the life stories of those who dwelt along the road. “It must feel odd to be one o’ Mr. Gaunt’s sort,” he was thinking. “I mind yond day i’ spring when they drove out wi’ me, sweet as kiss-me-quicks, to Keta’s Well. I mind the way they came home again--she with the clover-pink in her cheeks, and Gaunt with a queer look in his eyes I’d not seen there before. Get along, Captain, or they’ll take ye for a tramp. Gee-up! And now he’s come home to wed Peggy o’ Mathewson’s; and I fancied, when he was seeking news just now, ’twar Peggy he war asking for, until--well, until he named Miss Good Intent. Eh, well--get along, Captain! The Queen doesn’t wait for her mails while such as ye catch a sleep along the road.”