“An’ meals come reawnd whatever neäme yo’ ca’ them by,” supplemented Bess, who, like Martha, troubled with much serving, had been running in and out during the colloquy, whilst a combination of savoury odours, and a clatter of knives and plates, came from the adjoining room; “it’s supper toime neaw, an’ nobbody’s had even theer tay yet.” “Just so, just so, Mrs. Hulme. But never mind the tea,” said Mr. Ashton; “here comes your good husband in from the cellar, with a bottle or two of generous wine to drink to new relationships.” “I think I shall go abroad for a few months, Cousin Jabez,” said Travis to him, as Mr. Ashton mounted first into the gig to return home next day. “I require to dissipate thought. If I were occupied as you are from morning until night there might be less necessity. But—I say, Chapman the landlord here tells me you painted this sign. I think the faculty must run in the blood, for I do a bit in that line myself sometimes. How is it I have not seen a brush in your hands latterly?” “Well, I got a hint, through painting that very sign, that trade and art were incompatible, and seeing the force of the remark, as counselled—the ‘cobber has stuck to his last.’” “Look you, cousin” (Travis seemed fond of the word), “the fabled shield had two sides—stick to your trade if you like, but don’t let your trade absorb you. A business man who allows himself no leisure, and has no resource out of his business, is apt to degenerate into a money-grubber. I hope better things of you.” A nod, a shake of the hand, and the gig rolled off with its occupants, and Jabez stood looking after them, hesitating whether to go back to the mill or to the cottage. The casual word of warning had come not one whit too soon. That which was sending Travis abroad had kept Jabez close to business. He had not sought so much to dissipate thought as to circumvent it by substitution. If he had given his leisure to the cultivation of art, it had of late been art only as connected with manufacture and money-making. Even his honeymoon he was casting into the mill as grist. He was ever ready to take a hint. He turned his steps towards Carr with something like a sigh.