"It is no bargain: I do not bargain. I give an order. Good-by. Oh, I will write to you----" "Thank you--thank you----" he began. "To tell you what to do. I shall not be far, but you must not attempt to see me without my leave." She turned on her heel and marched down the road. The odd-job man whistled in amused dismay. "They're all alike," he muttered as he turned to his work again and met the vicar's wife. She was coming from the house and wore a severe expression. "Did I hear you talking, Brown?" "I can't say, ma'am," he answered stolidly. She frowned. "Be good enough not to equivocate," she commanded. "_Were_ you talking?" "I often talk aloud to myself," said Henry mildly. He was an honest man and did not take kindly to lies, even of the whitest. Mrs. Peters frowned again. "Indeed!" she said icily. "Do you mean to say you were not talking to a young woman through the hedge?" "Yes, ma'am," said Henry, "I was. I suppose I'm allowed to rest for a minute now and then." "Rest is a very different thing from philandering. That I can not allow. It looks very bad from the road to see the vicarage servants gossiping or worse through the hedge. Remember, Brown, it must not happen again. I can not understand one of our village girls----" She paused interrogatively, but Henry was not so silly as to fall into the trap. He began to oil the machine, and even Mrs. Peters did not like to ask pointblank who his sweetheart was. Instead, she finished with a snap, "--making herself so cheap." She went back to the house again. Henry straightened up and glared after her. "They're all alike!" he said again; but how he could include two such different people as Mrs. Peters and his adored in the same condemnation is hard to understand. The words of the sentence, it is true, were identical; but the inflection hinted at a great gulf fixed between the two offenders. Possibly they were charged with different offenses.