Autumn was drawing near, and still the pointing Finger had not been recognised. A few of the meetings had been held in the shed, and, although most of the men had been loyal to their promise, they had been anything but comfortable times. Nanna thought the matter had not been made a subject of united prayer enough. So at morning prayer, which Phebe had lately established, it was mentioned, and she also spoke of it to some of the men, asking them to pray about it too. Hugh Black had attended most of the meetings, taking up the same place behind the shed. The men had got to know of this, but said nothing, and once Phebe had caught sight of him herself. His presence brought back a little of the old nervousness, but when she told Nanna, that old Amazon said: "Toots, child, what difference should an extra quality in cloth make to you! I should say he needs your help as much as anybody." To Phebe's great astonishment he walked into the shop one morning. "Can I have a word with you alone, Mrs. Waring?" he asked. "Most certainly," and the two entered the parlour. Phebe's heart was going pit-a-pat at a very unusual rate. Could it be he had come to put any difficulties in the way--to make any complaints! How is it in any moment of excitement we are sure to jump to the most doleful conjectures? "Pray be seated, Mr. Black," she managed to say, in a tolerably steady voice. "Thank you. I have often wanted to come to see you, Mrs. Waring, and this morning I thought I'd just make a rush for it. Perhaps you wouldn't believe it, but I felt quite nervous at the thought of coming." "That is very strange; I am sure you are given to inspire more terror than I am. To tell you the truth I felt nervous when I saw you come in," and then they both laughed. There is nothing like a laugh for putting people at their ease. "Well, Mrs. Waring, I'd better go straight to the point at once. I like what you say to those men--indeed, I take most of it to myself, too. But that's not what I wanted to say. What are you going to do when the bad weather comes on?" "Wear a macintosh," was the simple answer. How could she be so dense! Surely here was the pointing Finger, yet she did not recognise it. "Yes, yes; but that's not it. Where are you going to hold the meetings?" Phebe grasped the arms of her chair to steady herself. She had caught sight of the Finger now. She lifted her eyes to the star--God was near! Then, with her usual simple straightforwardness, she told him all that had been in her mind and how she had been waiting for guidance to know if it was right to spend the hundred pounds. "I can afford to do so now," she added, "much better than I could at the beginning of the summer." "It would not be right to let you do it. I came here with the determination to offer you fifty pounds, if that would help you in any way, but I'll make it a hundred." "Sir!" gasped Phebe, her breath fairly taken away.