The parson's wife was a busy, little sharp-faced woman, arrayed in a shabby black silk, with collar and cuffs of ragged white lace, carefully mended. The stipend for looking after the souls of the Hedgerton people was by no means large, and the Rev. George Craver found it difficult to make both ends meet. Indeed, they would not have met at all had not Mrs. Craver been a notable housewife, who looked at both sides of a penny before parting with it, and who made shillings do the work of pounds. She scraped and screwed and pinched, and buzzed about the house from dawn till darkness like a busy bee, keeping her eye on everything and on everyone. According to custom she welcomed Mrs. Mellin into the kitchen and proceeded to count the washing, while Neddy sat outside in the cart and smoked a surreptitious cigarette. After the usual weekly wrangle over missing articles, scanty starching, bad ironing, and excessive charging, Mrs. Craver gave the woman a cup of tea and asked questions. It was her duty, as she conceived it as the Rector's wife, to know all that went on in the dull, seaside parish, and Mrs. Mellin could supply her with more information than most people. Therefore, Mrs. Craver sent the general servant, who was her solitary factotum, into the wood-shed to clean knives and brush boots while she listened to the weekly report. Mrs. Mellin began by a reference to her sister-gossip and rival spy. "I do 'ope, ma'am, as that Emily Pyne ain't been tellin' you things, as she ain't to be depended on, with her silly tongue and blind eye." The washerwoman spoke as if the lady in question had only one organ of vision, whereas she had two, and very sharp eyes they were. "No. I haven't seen Miss Pyne," said Mrs. Craver, briskly. "Has she been doing anything wrong?" "'Eaven forgive her, ma'am; she never does anything right," said Mrs. Mellin, piously. "Not that I've got anything against her, for the time being, 'cept her gossiping constant when she should be working, and dressing above her station to which she 'ave been called. No, ma'am, never do I speak against Emily, though she did try to catch Mellin, when we was gels, failing, nater'ly, when she 'ave a game leg, and remaining a spinster through 'Eaven's 'and being 'eavy on 'er, may she be forgiven." "Well, well; what's the news?" Mrs. Craver had heard all about Miss Pyne's wickedness before, and spoke impatiently. Mrs. Mellin wiped her face, sipped her tea, and shook her head. "There ain't no news as is startling, ma'am, as bombs and bloodshed don't come 'ere while we 'ave the King--long may he reign over us. But that 'ouse in Ladysmith Road, as is so unlucky, is let at last." "Maranatha?" "Which the very name do give me the shudders, ma'am. It's a wicked name." "It is an odd name," agreed the sharp little woman, "and I asked the Rector about it. He says it is a Syriac word, meaning the Lord comes, or has come." "Neddy told me it was a cuss, ma'am."