At this hour the tree-foundered village seemed oppressed and smothered with falling leaves. Its over-abundant timber mastered the place and flung down foliage in such immense masses that the roads and alleys, drinking fountain, little gardens subtending the street and the roofs of the cottages were all choked with them. But it was a dry and joyous hour, the latter rains had yet to fall and submerge Ashprington in mud and decay. Virginian creeper flamed on the house fronts and dahlias, michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums still flaunted in the gardens. Through this cheerful scene came Miss Finch and Medora Dingle with their baskets to pick blackberries. Medora’s home was a stone’s throw from the church and they now crossed the churchyard to enter certain fields beyond it. The well-kept sward spread level with the arms of the apple trees over the wall, for the ground fell sharply from the graveyard to the orchard below; and now, at the limits of the burial place, cider apples fell on the graves and spattered their mounds and flat surfaces with gold. Daisy stopped at a tomb and removed a windfall of fruit from the broken marble chips that covered it. “That’s old Mr. Kellock,” she said. “He wouldn’t like them there, would he—such a thrifty old man as he was.” “And such a tidy one,” added Medora. “He was Mr. Jordan’s grandfather and left him all his money I believe,” continued Daisy; but her friend knew more about that matter than she did. “He hadn’t anything to leave over and above his cottage. That was left to Jordan Kellock and he sold it, not wanting to be troubled with house property. It wasn’t worth much.” They passed through the shining fruit trees and stopped to admire them; then Medora, since Mr. Kellock had been mentioned, felt she might return to that subject. “I often wonder what he’ll do,” she said. “You feel that he won’t be content to stop at Dene all his life.” “Why not?” asked Daisy. “He’s got proper good money and is a big man here.” “He’d be a big man anywhere,” answered Medora. “It isn’t only a matter of wages with him,” she added. “Of course we know as a vatman he’s one of the best in England, and makes as good paper as there is in the world, I suppose. But he’s got more to him than that, Daisy. He’s not content with being prosperous and well-thought of. He thinks great thoughts and has great ambitions. I dare say the people here don’t see that, for he’s a cut above the most of them.” “He is,” admitted Daisy. “There’s something, I don’t know what about him; but it makes me uncomfortable with him.” “That’s just his greatness acting on you,” explained Medora. “I felt like that once too, but he did me the kindness to explain himself.” “We all know he would have given all he’d got to marry you.”