"You might have knocked me over with a feather," returned Caleb, reverting to his favorite expression. "It was not so much the shock of his death, though I have worked for him, boy and man, just fifty-five years last Michaelmas, nor the manner of it, for he slept away as peaceful as an infant; it is what came after, the mysterious dealings of Providence; but I must have my pipe, saving your presence, Miss Queenie dear. And you must have something to eat and drink to keep up your strength; and then you and me will have a deal of comfortable talk together, when we are both more composed;" and Queenie, seeing how agitated the old man really was, yielded with her usual sweet unselfishness, and went up to the little room, with the big brown bed, where she and Emmie had slept, with the window overlooking the stone-mason's yard, with the great slabs and blocks of stone. The rain was dripping on the sheds and the white, unfinished monuments. Queenie stood for a long time listening to the soft patter on the leaves, until she found she was in the Warstdale granite-quarry, sitting amongst the grey stones, with Garth stretched on his plaid beside her, and roused herself with difficulty. She went down after that, and poured out tea for herself from the little black teapot, and did justice to Molly's cake; and looked at the grate, wreathed with sprays of silvery honesty, and wondered if the rain had cleared up at Hepshaw, and whether they would go after all to the abbey; and then scolded herself for being so stupid and abstracted. Caleb was rather quiet also, and sat regarding her solemnly through his puffs of smoke; now and then he seemed about to speak, but checked himself. He cleared his throat rather nervously when Queenie had ended her little repast and took a seat beside him. "Now, dear old friend, I am refreshed, and we can have our talk," she said cheerfully. "Fill your pipe again; you never talk so well without it, you know. I want to tell you about Emmie, and the cottage, and the school, and the dear people at Church-Stile House; if I do not begin now I shall never get through it all in three days." "Ay, ay; but there is something we must talk about before that; the cottage and the school were all very well once, but now things are different. As I said before, I am not so young as I was, Miss Queenie, dear; and you will not flurry me and make me nervous if I tell you a few of my thoughts?" "Now, Caleb, you are not going to speak against my little scheme," cried the girl reproachfully. "It is all settled; nothing in the world could shake my purpose. I would rather be the school-mistress at Hepshaw, and earn my daily bread, than be the richest lady in Carlisle." The old man adjusted his pipe with trembling fingers. "Do you hear me, Caleb?" "I hear you, Miss Queenie, my dear."