Poor Uncle became distraught. If it were true, he could never carry a high head again. Stoutly he refused to believe it, breathing strange oaths and threatening violence to all and sundry. If such a wicked lie reached Fancy's ears, it would kill her. He strode into the forest to cool himself. Could he face his fellow-men in church? He beheld two empty pews, and gnashed his teeth. Returning from the forest, somewhat easier in mind, he decided that Susan must be warned. Very wisely he went to Hamlin first, who confirmed the telegram, agreeing with Uncle that Mrs. Yellam should be told the truth and what it had been twisted into by wagging tongues. Sensible of Uncle's excitement and indignation, he said quietly: "You must rise above this gossip. It is not unnatural and not ill-natured." "I begs your pardon, sir?" "Sir Geoffrey says that Alfred must be somewhere. For my part, I prefer to think of him in the care, perhaps, of some friendly French peasant, tending a man who may not remember his own name." "That be a mort o' comfort. Twice in my long life, I minds forgetting my own name. I took a notion that I were the village idiot. Bad ale's tricksy stuff. But desartion be a tarr'ble word." Hamlin clapped him hard on the shoulder. "Nobody who knows Alfred, or his mother, or you, would credit such a monstrous perversion of the truth." Uncle, much heartened, betook himself to his sister's cottage, where the surprise of his life awaited him. Susan literally jumped at this new hypothesis. She burst into excited speech. "If Squire thinks that, 'tis so. Parson be a wonnerful man, but, as you says, Habakkuk, sky-high above we. Squire be clay, a gert human bein' wise wi' the wisdom that I understands. If he holds that my Alferd be wanderin', pore dear, in France, 'tis so. I feels a different 'ooman to-night. And Fancy be better, too, wi' some sart o' appetite for her victuals. I be fightin' hard for her life, Habakkuk, and I believes to-night that all will be well. 'Tis queer, Fancy keeps on a-sayin' to me: 'Alferd'll come back.'" "Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Pa'son be prayin' in church for Alferd. 'Twould seem more respectful-like if you jined in wi' your loud voice." At once Mrs. Yellam's face hardened. "I bide at home till Alferd comes back." "Ah-h-h! You be set as never was on guidin' yourself, Susan. Now, what about tellin' Fancy?" "I tells her the moment you be gone. 'Twill perk her up, better'n ginger-brandy. And what do I keer what they says in village? Let 'un talk. Squire be right. Alferd must be somewheres." Fancy was told within the hour. It will never be known whether the news affected her for good or ill. Mrs. Yellam lacked imagination. Fancy, we may believe, conjured up a lamentable picture of her Alfred, bereft of his wits, wandering in a strange land, homeless and half-starving, at the mercy of the elements in mid-winter. But she repeated the main clause in her creed: "Alfred'll come back."