"No, no, Stanbury. No more fighting. You mean your son Bart and that chap Mattacott. They be galled against each other without a doubt, along of a she; but fight--no. Mattacott’s ten year older than your boy. Bart couldn’t hit a man whose hair be turning grey." "That’s what I said. Still, they long to be at each other." "They’ll have to settle their difference some other way. No more fighting if I can prevent it. You mustn’t suppose I’m what I was--far from it. I look at life quite different now. All’s vanity, as the Preacher saith. I may give up ’The Corner House’ afore the world’s much older, neighbour." "Good Lord! what’s come to you?" exclaimed the farmer. "What come to Bendigo," said Mr. Shillabeer solemnly. "I’ve had the Light, Stanbury. Make no mistake: when the Light does come it shows up everything in a manner very different to what we’ve seen it before." "Well," said Bartholomew, "don’t let it turn you out of ’The Corner House.’ Beer have got to be sold, and there’s nothing in the Law and the Prophets against keeping an inn and giving good money’s worth, same as you’ve always been famed to do." But Shillabeer doubted. Having drunk another cup of tea, he rose, wished the Stanburys a Merry Christmas in a mournful voice, and disappeared. Constance shook her head when he was gone and declared that a great change began to creep over the old man. "Mark me, he’s breaking up," she said. "He’s casting away all his old opinions and growing more and more religious-minded and low-spirited. Nought would surprise me. I’ve seen it happen before. He’ll be a teetotaller yet, and then he’ll go melancholy mad so like as not." Her husband protested. "Such a one you are for looking on the cloudy side! There’s too much good sense in the man for any such thing as teetotalism to overtake him. A moderate drinker always, and won’t serve anybody beyond the twinkling eye stage. Why, he’ve made bitter enemies by withholding liquor where any other man wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Where’s Margaret to? She was coming over, wasn’t she?" "Yes," said his wife. "But ’tis nearly dark. She’ll have changed her mind or been hindered." Half an hour later Bart arrived, and he was able to explain his sister’s absence. "She’s took ill," he said. "I met Rhoda back by Lowery. Madge have a cold on the chest--nought to name, but enough to keep her in against this fog. I’m feared they won’t be able to go up to Ditsworthy for Christmas now, unless she mends very quick." At his first word Mrs. Stanbury began to be busy. Under the lofty mantelshelf before the fire there hung a row of little linen bags, and in them were various simples culled through vanished spring and summer. They contained elder-flowers, marjoram, thyme, sorrel, and calamint. She selected ingredients and took them to the table. "Us must see to this afore she gets worse," declared Constance; and soon she was preparing a decoction of herbs. Her son had further news.