“I got salvation off him. Master and mis’-ess they’ve got salvation too; but they take it very quiet. They’re very fond of one another; if you please one, you’ll please ’em both. They let me walk over to prayer-meetin’ once a week. But I don’t go by Mendarva’s shop-- that’s where you work--though ’tis the shortest way; because there’s a woman buried in the road there, with a stake through her, and I’m a terrible coward for ghosts.” She paused as if expecting him to say something; but Taffy was staring at a “neck” of corn, elaborately plaited, which hung above the mantel-shelf. And just then Mrs. Joll entered the kitchen. Taffy--without any reason--had expected to see a middle-aged housewife. But Mrs. Joll was hardly over thirty; a shapely woman, with a plain, pleasant face and auburn hair, the wealth of which she concealed by wearing it drawn straight back from the forehead and plaited in the severest coil behind. She shook hands. “You’ll like a drink of milk before I show you your room?” Taffy was grateful for the milk. While he drank it, the voices of the children outside rose suddenly to shouts of laughter. “That will be their father come home,” said Mrs. Joll, and going to the side door called to him. “John, put the children down! Mr. Raymond’s son is here.” Mr. Joll, who had been galloping round the farmyard with a small girl of three on his back, and a boy of six tugging at his coat-tails, pulled up, and wiped his good-natured face. “Kindly welcome,” said he, coming forward and shaking hands, while the two children stared at Taffy. After a minute the boy said, “My name’s Bob. Come and play horses, too.” Farmer Joll looked at Taffy with a shyness that was comic. “Shall we?” “Mr. Raymond will be tired enough already,” his wife suggested. “Not a bit,” declared Taffy; and hoisting Bob on his back, he set off furiously prancing after the farmer. By dinner-time he and the family were fast friends, and after dinner the farmer took him off to be introduced to Mendarva the Smith. Mendarva’s forge stood on a triangle of turf beside the high-road, where a cart-track branched off to descend to Joll’s Farm in the valley. And Mendarva was a dark giant of a man with a beard like those you see on the statues of Nineveh. On Sundays he parted his beard carefully and tied the ends with little bows of scarlet ribbon; but on week days it curled at will over his mighty chest. He had one assistant whom he called “the Dane”; a red-haired youth as tall as himself and straighter from the waist down. Mendarva’s knees had come together with years of poising and swinging his great hammer. “He’s little, but he’ll grow,” said he, after eyeing Taffy up and down. “Dane, come fore and tell me if we’ll make a workman of en.” The Dane stepped forward and passed his hands over the boy’s shoulders and down his ribs. “He’s slight, but he’ll fill out. Good pair o’ shoulders. Give’s hold o’ your hand, my son.”