“Shouldn’t wonder,” murmured John, indistinctly. Lizzie picked up her sock once more, but presently paused. “I’m not sure if I covered the pens,” she said. “Shall us go out an’ cover the pens, Sweetapple?” John stared in alarm. What was he to do now? Phoebe had not given him any instructions as to what he should say if her mother suggested going out to see to the pens. “They young pheasants,” went on Lizzie, talking rapidly to herself, “they be terr’ble nesh. If a heavy starm of rain was to come on they mid all be dead in the marnin’. Where be the lantern?” She rose hurriedly, looking round her with a startled air. John rose too, thoroughly frightened. “Missis!” he shouted, “Phoebe! come down this minute! Here be the old lady a-wantin’ to go out!” Phoebe hurried down with all speed, finding her husband planted with his back against the door for safety’s sake, while Lizzie, also standing, was staring at him piteously. “Sweetapple!” she gasped, “Richard—what be gone wi’ Richard? I can’t think where I can be! What’s this strange place—and who’s this man?” “Why ’tis John, mother. Don’t ye know John? You be here in our house. You’ve a-come to bide along o’ we. Don’t ye mind—Squire settled it.” “Squire?” echoed Lizzie. “Ees, I mind it now. I mind it.” She came back to her chair without another word, and said no more until her daughter presently took her up to bed. “I don’t know as we’ve done so very well to toll mother here,” remarked Phoebe, when she came down again. “She do seem to be frettin’ quite sensible by times, an’ at others she’ll carry on wi’ nonsense same as ye heard.” “I don’t think ’tis such a very good notion, to go playin’ games wi’ her,” responded John. “I’ll not do it no more. I couldn’t think what was comin’ next.” Lizzie seemed comparatively tranquil on the morrow, however, though she had slept but ill and was very low in spirits. She looked at the children with the same bewildered air as on the previous day, and started at the noises in the street, but she made no complaint, except once when her daughter asked her to repeat some phrase which she had murmured to herself. “I only said there don’t seem to be no birds here,” said Mrs Sweetapple, half apologetically. “It do feel lwonesome wi’out no birds.” “Ye don’t look for birds in a town, do ye?” retorted Phoebe, sharply. “Of course not,” agreed her mother. “I’m not used to towns.” Towards evening she became restless again, and Mrs Caines despatched her family to bed earlier than usual in order that she might keep guard herself; her lord and master found it more convenient to keep out of the way. “Father’s chair” was duly set forth, and Mrs Sweetapple sat and watched it, making an occasional remark; whenever these disjointed phrases were of a dangerous tendency Phoebe took care to recall her mother to the sense of her actual situation.