With the money the children’s father had given Jasper for his kindness, he had been able to set up for himself, and eventually he had married Freedom. Years afterwards, when the old proprietor of the mill had died, Jasper had bought it, and gone to dwell there; for although he came of gipsy stock, he had lost the love of wandering. And Freedom was a happy wife, as she deserved to be, and had many wonderfully brown babies. Jasper would often stand at the open door in summer time, with his hands in his pockets and an eye on the cloud drift, and now and again as he worked, he would sing the song Rob heard him sing that night in the moonshine. “For the miller’s a man, who must work while he can, With the rye and the barley growing, While the slow wheels churn, and the great sails turn To the fresh wind, blowing.” CHAPTER X The story finished, all the children bounded along the passage, laughing and leaping as they ran. They found the drawing-room lit, and a company assembled. It took Clare’s breath away, and at first she felt excited. Then she espied Mrs. Inchbald at the end of the long room, and ran towards her. Mrs. Inchbald saw her approaching, and “La, child, what are you doing?” she said, “remember your minuet. That is not the way to move in a drawing-room, my dear.” But Clare didn’t know a minuet. She lives, it is to be deplored, in the day of barn-dances, kitchen lancers, and general slouchback deportment. When little boys walk with their hands in their pockets (a most ungentlemanly attitude), and little girls stand with their heads set on their shoulders as if they were Odol bottles, poor things, and made that way. “How well Mrs. Jordan stands,” said Mrs. Inchbald; “look at her, my dear, and learn to throw the small of your back in and to poise your head.” Clare was getting good at keeping silence when censured, so she stood still while Mrs. Inchbald spoke. She was, moreover, immensely interested in watching the animated groups around her; she saw Bim as pre-occupied as possible, admiring Lewis, the actor’s, coat. Christopher was looking at a large russet-coloured leather book spread open before him, which Clare recognised as the portfolio belonging to the Misses Frankland; and as she looked round the room, in they came, those two pretty creatures, Amelia and Marianne. They sat down, with Christopher between them, and showed him their book. “Then they also live here? That accounts,” thought Clare, “for that dog I heard barking and whining just before I woke up this morning.” But now the room was filling so quickly her eyes kept falling on new old friends. One group in particular attracted her attention; it was so very lively and vivid in effect. Yes, it was Barry, and Quin, and Miss Fenton--Miss Lavinia Fenton of the expressive hands. And towards this group Lewis, the actor, was striding, and Mrs. Jordan was among them too.