Nana had taken the children to a cinematograph show in Marlehouse. Miss Glover went with them in the bucket to visit a friend there. The Squire had affixed a paper to the outside of the study door saying that he was not to be disturbed till five o'clock, and it was a lovely afternoon. The sort of afternoon when late March holds all the promise of May, when early daffodils shine splendidly in sheltered corners, and late snowdrops in a country garden look quite large and solemn. When trodden grass has a sweet sharp smell, and all sorts of pretty things peep from the crannies of old Cotswold walls: those loose grey walls that are so infinitely various, so dear and friendly in their constant beautiful surprises. Mary saw the nursery party go, and stood and waved to them till they were out of sight, when a faint and distant summons to the cook-house door proved that Ger had begun to play the instant the bucket had turned out of the gates. Mary called Parker and went out. Down the drive she went, through the great gates and over the bridge to Willets' cottage. Willets was out, but Mrs Willets was delighted to see her. Mrs Willets was a kind, comfortable person, who brewed excellent home-made wines which she loved to bestow upon her friends. Mary partook of a glass of ginger wine, very strong and very gingery, and having given the latest news of the mistress (she, herself, was "our young lady" now), received in return the mournful intelligence that Miss Gallup had had a touch of bronchitis, "reely downright bad she'd bin, and now she was about but weak as a kitten, and very low in her mind; if you'd the time just to call in and see 'er, I'm sure she'd take it very kind, with your ma away, and all." So Mary hied her to Miss Gallup at the other end of Redmarley's one long lopsided street. Her progress was a slow one, for at every cottage gate she was stopped with exclamations: "Why we thought you was lost, or gone to furrin parts with the mistress; none on us seen you since Church last Sunday." At last she reached "Two Ways," Miss Gallup's house, and Eloquent, of all people in the world, opened the door to her. Mary merely thought "How nice of him to come and see his aunt," and remarked aloud: "Ah, Mr Gallup, I'm glad to see you've come to look after the invalid, I've only just heard of her illness. May I come in? Will it tire her to see me?" And Eloquent could find no words to greet her except, "Please step this way," and he was nevertheless painfully aware that exactly so would he have addressed her half a dozen years ago had he been leading her to the haberdashery department of the Golden Anchor. Poor Eloquent was thrown off his mental balance altogether, for to him this was no ordinary meeting. Picture the feelings of a young man who thinks he is opening the door to the baker and finds incarnate spring upon the threshold. Spring in weather-beaten, well-cut clothes, with a sweet, friendly voice and adorable, cordial smile.