"Tom went down to see’n last night, thought as ’ee might be lonely in that big ’ouse all by ’imself; and Leadville was tellin’ ’im he didn’t believe in the way missis was farmin’. He’d like to try and see what the land’d grow best. He said—terbacca." "Terbacca? I should think he was maäze. Never heard tell of such a thing. Whatever next is he gwine grow?" "He think the land would grow vegetables as ’tis the right sort o’ soil and that ’tis wasted in corn." Sabina gave a feeble snort. "What do ’ee know about soils—a sailor!" She shook her head. "As long as I live he’ll never have nothing to do with Wastralls." Mrs. Rosevear’s needles clicked in agreement. "As long as you do live, S’bina." "Iss, why not me livin’? I ’ent older than he is, and there’s no reason I should turn up my trotters first; at least I don’t see why I should." "We’ll all live till we die, sure enough; but it’s been touch and go lately with you." "I’ll live in spite of’n," said Mrs. Byron. "I hope you will, my dear, but sposin’ you don’t?" Mrs. Byron returned her friend’s glance with a startled look. "Ah, iss, sposin’." She saw at last what her death would have meant both to her husband and her kinsfolk. "Well, I make no promises, but I do see now where I’m to. Iss, I can see through a very small hole, and I’m not too old to learn." Sabina had been effectually roused. Possessions that are menaced increase in value and as long as Leadville was making changes at Wastralls she would not want to die. "There’s things as you can’t alter," she said, thinking Sabina should be prepared for what could not now be helped. "What can’t I alter?" "He’ve pulled up the honeysuckle by the porch." A fugitive colour dyed the wan cheeks. "Have ’ee now, the old villain? Whatever for? The honeysuckle as my poor old mother planted." Sabina’s thoughts were finally diverted from her own trials and, lame or not, she was now only too anxious to stop this meddling with what was hers. "He’s always after something new." Leadville could not have known that she treasured the climber. She was sure he would not knowingly have hurt her feelings. Whenever he did anything that to her was incomprehensible, Sabina put it down, not to design, but want of thought. She was of those who cannot see into the heart of a matter. "I like the old things best," she continued, and her eyes, those impersonal eyes, which were the blue of a December sky, shone with new purpose. "We’ll have no more of they doin’s. Where’s that traäde Nurse wanted for me to take? I feel I could drink some now."