"Why be this change come upon me, Solly? 'Tis written: Upon the ungodly He shall rain fire and brimstone, storm and tempest. But, to-day, seemingly, that be the lot o' the godly and the fatherless. To the ungodly be given Victoria Crosses." Solomon sat up and begged his mistress to be silent. She concluded sorrowfully: "I be cast down, and they that trouble me will rejoice at it." Solomon leapt into her lap, and thrust his nice cold nose against her cheek. Hamlin visited her from time to time, but as friend, not priest. Wisely, he bided his time to speak, wondering when the right moment would come. She received him respectfully, answered his questions, enquired after Mr. Edward, who had just received his Sam Brown belt, and then relapsed into exasperating silence. Meanwhile, Mr. William Saint had not neglected his opportunities. The man chosen by Hamlin and Alfred to "carry on" during Alfred's absence was sober and honest, but a poor talker. Saint bought a motor-'bus in May, which he used at first to take passengers to and from the railway station, some four miles distant. At the same time, he made arrangements to entertain summer guests, renting a small house with a garden overlooking the Avon, which served as an annexe for middle class trippers, elderly spinsters who drew in water-colours, officers' wives with children, and professional men seeking a little cheap fishing. Saint drove the 'bus himself, engaging a good-looking young woman to take his place in the bar. Now and again he made expeditions to Salisbury, filling his 'bus with strangers who wished to see the Cathedral. Before June was out, he started a bi-weekly trip. In July he began carrying parcels. Hamlin, accordingly, said a word to the Squire. But what could be done? The Squire and he stuck faithfully to the regular carrier. Others consulted their own convenience. Mrs. Yellam told Fancy that Alfred's business was steadily diminishing in volume. "Have you told Alfred?" asked Fancy. "No. And don't 'ee tell him, neither." "Not me. Anyways, so long as dear Alfred be safe and well, I shan't worry about money matters." Mrs. Yellam said tartly: "Folks wi' no money to lose can allers sleep sound at nights." Then, realising that she had slapped an innocent cheek, she added in a pleasanter voice: "If Alferd keep safe and well, he'll downscramble this raskil so soon as he be homealong." Fancy kissed her. "He will be homealong soon," she whispered. "How do 'ee know? You ain't got a letter saying so?" "N-n-no." Mrs. Yellam's voice became testy again. "Then how do 'ee know?" Fancy hesitated, blushing. But Mrs. Yellam pressed her point. Finally, the girl made confession. When Alfred went to France, she had consulted the cards. Mrs. Yellam exploded. What ridiculous notions young maids got, to be sure! Cards, indeed! Very scornfully, she informed Fancy of the existence of a so-called wise woman, half-gypsy, who lived in a tumble-down cottage at Ocknell.