“I know that that basket betrayed its presence to me more than once as it hung on my arm after the first three mile hither,” said the girl. “As I live'tis a seven-pound pink salmon, and 'twas swimming in the sea at noon this day,” said Susan when she had opened the basket. “She must ha' heard that we were supping at the mill this eve'n, and that I was of the company,” said the blacksmith. “Mistress Polwhele, my respects to you!” “Nay, Master Hal, had I known that you were to be of the company, the salmon would ha' been a fifteen-pounder at least--that is if I wanted any of the others to have a mouthful,” laughed the girl. She was out of the room before the blacksmith had ceased rattling his chair in his pretence of rising to carry out the menace he made with his fist when she was speaking. The miller and his guests watched in silence the door through which she had gone. “A bit of a change from Jake Pullsford, eh, friends!” remarked Hal. “That's what we needed sorely,” said the miller. CHAPTER III Life did not seem to be strenuous in the valley of the Lana, seven miles from the fishing village of Porthawn, and thirty from Falmouth, when the eighteenth century still wanted more than ten years of completing its first half. To be sure, the high road to Plymouth was not so very far away, and coaches with passengers and luggage flew daily across the little bridge of the Lana at the rate sometimes of as much as nine miles an hour; and the consciousness of this made the people of the village of Ruthallion think rather well of themselves--so at least the dwellers in the more remote parts of the region were accustomed to affirm. The generous were ready to allow that the most humble-minded of people would think well of themselves if they were so favourably situated in regard to the great world as to be able to get news from London only a few days old, simply by waiting at the turn of the Plymouth road until a coach came up.