'Just gone, sir,' replied the young woman, half turned away, and nervously fingering her chin. 'I shouldn't trouble about it if I were you, Miss Fouracres,' said Mr. Ruddiman in a tone of friendly encouragement. 'He'll soon be back, he'll soon be back, and you may depend upon it there'll be no harm done.' 'I hope so, sir, but I've an uneasy sort of feeling; I have indeed.' 'Don't you worry, Miss Fouracres. When the Prince has gone away he'll be better.' Miss Fouracres stood for a moment with eyes cast down, then, looking gravely at Mr. Ruddiman, said in a sorrowful voice-- 'He calls the Pig and Whistle a pothouse.' 'Ah, that was wrong of him!' protested the other, no less earnestly. 'A pothouse, indeed! Why, it's one of the nicest little inns you could find anywhere. I'm getting fond of the Pig and Whistle. A pothouse, indeed! No, I call that shameful.' The listener's eyes shone with gratification. 'Of course we've got to remember,' she said more softly, 'that father has known very different things.' 'I don't care what he has known!' cried Mr. Ruddiman. 'I hope I may never have a worse home than the Pig and Whistle. And I only wish I could live here all the rest of my life, instead of going back to that beastly school!' 'Don't you like the school, Mr. Ruddiman?' 'Oh, I can't say I _dis_like it. But since I've been living here--well, it's no use thinking of impossibilities.' Towards midday the pony and trap came back, driven by a lad from Woodbury, who had business in this direction. Miss Fouracres asked him to unharness and stable the pony, and whilst this was being done Mr. Ruddiman stood by, studiously observant. He had pleasure in every detail of the inn life. To-day he several times waited upon passing guests, and laughed exultantly at the perfection he was attaining. Miss Fouracres seemed hardly less pleased, but when alone she still wore an anxious look, and occasionally heaved a sigh of trouble. Mr. Ruddiman, as usual, took an early supper, and soon after went up to his room. By ten o'clock the house was closed, and all through the night no sound disturbed the peace of the Pig and Whistle. The morrow passed without news of Mr. Fouracres. On the morning after, just as Mr. Ruddiman was finishing his breakfast, alone in the parlour, he heard a loud cry of distress from the front part of the inn. Rushing out to see what was the matter, he found Miss Fouracres in agitated talk with a man on horseback. 'Ah, what did I say!' she cried at sight of the guest. 'Didn't I _know_ something was going to happen? I must go at once--I must put in the pony--' 'I'll do that for you,' said Mr. Ruddiman. 'But what has happened?'