Ernie rambled down the dusty hill, the Downs upon his left, picking up familiar objects as he went--the Moot Farm standing up like an elm-girt island from the sea of arable, the long low backs of the Duke's piggeries, the path that wound across the plough and led over the hill to far Aldwoldston in the Ruther Valley. A young woman with provocative eyes and brightly burnished hair came to the door at his knock and scanned him friendly. "Is Mr. Pigott in?" Ernie asked. "He's at his office." "Could I see Mrs. Pigott then?" She eyed him merrily. "You are seeing her," she said; and added, enjoying his embarrassment, "I'm number two. My predecessor sleeps at the back." She tossed her bright head in the direction of the cemetery on Rodmill seen through the open back-door. Ernie blushed and fumbled. "I'm Ernie Caspar, Miss--I would say Ma'am." The young woman regarded him with swift and sympathetic interest. "Oh, I know _you_," she said. "You used to write from India.... So Mr. Pigott never mentioned _me_! I'll just speak to him when he comes in." She saw the bag in his hand, and her mouth became firm. "Been to see your people?" "Just looked in on dad, 'm." She eyed him sharply. "And your brother?" Ern said nothing. "Well then, you leave your bag here, and step across the Moot to the office. _Southdown Transport Co._, back of the _Star_ by the Quaker Meeting-house. You'll sleep the night here." Ernie crossed the brickfields, passed his old school where the children were singing the evening hymn, under the church upon the Kneb, through what the old inhabitants still called Ox-steddle Bottom, where once his father had pointed out to him the remains of Roman byres. The office was in Borough Lane. Mrs. Pigott had warned her husband by telephone. Ernie therefore was shown into the inner sanctum at once. Mr. Pigott, grizzled now, but with the old almost aggressive air of integrity, summed his erstwhile pupil up with the eyes of the appraising schoolmaster. "It's the old Ernie. I see that," he grunted. "So Alf's been playing it up already. You needn't tell me. He's a masterpiece, that young man. Even _she_ admits that." He paused and began again, confidential and communicative like one naughty boy whispering to another. "What d'ye think of her? She's church--more shame to her. But I forgive her. I forgive her a lot. You have to when you're married to em--as you'll find some day. And what I don't forgive I pass by. For why?--If I didn't she'd sauce me." He suddenly became aware that he was being indiscreet, even undignified, and broke off gruffly--"Well, what did they teach you in the Army?" Ernie laughed. "It's not so bad as they make out, sir. I like the old Regiment well enough." "They tell me," said Mr. Pigott solemnly, "that in South Africa none of the unpopular officers came home--_and they weren't shot by the Boers_!"