Within a week Jeffrey, going down town in his blue blouse to do an errand at the stores, twice met squads of workmen coming from the mill--warm-coloured, swarthy men, most of them young. He was looking at them in a sudden curiosity as to their making part of Weedon Moore's audience, when bright pleasure rippled over the dark faces. They knew him; they were mysteriously glad to see him. Caps were snatched off. Jeffrey snatched at his in return. There was a gleam of white teeth all through the squad; as he passed in the ample way they made for him, he felt foolishly as if they were going to stretch out kind detaining hands. They looked so tropically warm and moved, he hardly knew what greeting he might receive. "What have I done?" he thought. "Are they going to kiss me?" He wished he could see Madame Beattie and ask her what she had really caused to happen. But on a later afternoon, at his work in the field, he saw Miss Amabel carefully treading among corn hills, very hot though in her summer silk and with a parasol. She always did feel the heat but patiently, as one under bonds of meekness to the God who sent it; but to-day her discomfort was within. Jeffrey threw down his hoe and wiped his face. There was a bench under the beech tree shade. He had put it there so that his father might be beguiled into resting after work. When she reached the edge of the corn, he advanced and took her parasol and held it over her. "Ladies shouldn't come out here," he said. "They must send Mary Nellen to fetch me in." Miss Amabel sat down on the bench and did a little extra breathing, while she looked at him affectionately. "You are a good boy, Jeff," said she, at length, "whatever you've been doing." "I've been hoeing," said Jeff. "Here, let me." He took her large fine handkerchief, still in its crisp folds, and with an absurd and yet pretty care wiped her face with it. He wiped it all over, the moist forehead, the firm chin where beads stood glistening, and Miss Amabel let him, saying only as he finished: "Father used to perspire on his chin." "There," said Jeffrey. He folded the handkerchief and returned it to its bag. "Now you're a nice dry child. I suppose you've got your shoes full of dirt. Mine are when I've been out here." "Never mind my shoes," said she. "Jeff, how nice you are. How much you are to-day like what you used to be when you were a boy." "I feel rather like it nowadays," said Jeff, "I don't know why. Except that I come out here and play by myself and they all let me alone." "But you mustn't play tricks," said Miss Amabel. "You must be good and not play tricks on other people." Jeff drew up his knees and clasped his hands about them. His eyes were on the corn shimmering in the heat. "What's in your bonnet, dear?" said he. "I hear a buzz." "What happened the other night?" she asked. "It came to my ears, I won't say how." "Weedie told you. Weedie always told." "I don't say it was Mr. Weedon Moore."