An ancient ostler came to help Simon with the horse, while Sarah waited on the sloping stones. The steep yard was full of traps, pushed under sheds or left in the open with their shafts against the ground. Fleming’s dog-cart was there, with its neat body and light wheels; but May was already gone on her business in the town. Simon had an affection for a particular spot of his own, and it always put him about to find it filled. It was taken this morning, he found, though not by May. May would never have played him a trick like that. It was a car that was standing smugly in Simon’s place, with a doubled-up driver busy about its wheels. Cars were always intruders in the cobbled old yard, but it was a personal insult to find one in his ’spot.’ He went and talked to the driver about it in rising tones, and the driver stood on his head and made biting comments between his feet. A man came to one of the inn windows while the scene was on, and listened attentively to the feast of reason and the flow of soul. Sarah looked rather white and shaky by the time Simon returned, thinking of something new to say to the very last. He left the newest and best unsaid, however, when he saw her face. "You’d best set down for a bit," he observed, leading her anxiously towards the inn. "You’re fretting yourself about seeing doctor, that’s what it is. You’d ha’ done better to call as we come in." But Sarah insisted that she was not troubling about the doctor in the least. She had been right as a bobbin, she said, and then she had suddenly come over all queer. "Happen it’s standing that long while you and morter-man sauced each other about car!" she added, with shaky spirit. "You made a terble song about it, I’m sure. Trap’ll do well enough where it is." "I can’t abide they morter-folk!" Simon muttered, crestfallen but still vexed. "But never mind about yon. Gang in and set you down. If I happen across May, I’ll tell her to look you up." A door opened at the end of the dark passage, showing a warm parlour with flowers and crimson blinds. The stout landlady came swimming towards them, speaking as she swam, so that the vibrations of her welcoming voice reached them first like oncoming waves. Another door opened in the wall on the right, and a man looked out from the dim corner behind. "That you, Mrs. Thornthet? What?--not so well? Nay, now, it’ll never do to start market-day feeling badly, I’m sure! Come along in and rest yourself by t’fire, and a cup of tea’ll happen set you right."