"My basket? Do you think I'd trust a man to carry eggs?" She laughed, but with a trace of forgiveness. He did not answer, but seemed to have fallen into a fit of troubled contemplation. They walked on in silence. Presently she halted. "I doubt you've had trouble in your time, and I've hurt your feelings and spoken as I oughtn't to have spoken to my betters; but I've seen that Peter and Paul were hurt in mind, and that made me say more than I meant. Yonder's your way down to Kit's House. Good-night, sir." Mr. Fogo would have held out his hand, but she was gone quickly down the road. He stood for a minute looking after her; then turned and walked quickly down the path to Kit's House. Caleb met him at the door. "So you'm back, an' I hopes you enj'yed your walk, as Sal said when her man comed home from France. I was just a-comin' to luk for 'ee. Where's your easy-all and your umbrella?" Mr. Fogo told his story. "H'm!" said Caleb, "an' Tamsin saw 'ee home?" "Yes; and by the way, Caleb, you may as well take down that notice to-morrow." "H'm!" muttered Caleb again. "You're quite sure thicky coddysel won't do?" "Quite." "Very well, sir," said Caleb, and began to busy himself with the evening meal. But he looked curiously at his master more than once during the evening. Mr. Fogo spent most of his time in a brown study, smoking and gazing abstractedly into the fire. Caleb also smoked (it was one of his privileges), and finally, with an anxious glance, and two or three hard puffs at his pipe, broke the silence--