"I knew you'd be surprised, Miss Hazelt. Why, you've gone quite flushed-like, and poor Dibbs gone away with 'is tail between 'is legs. You jumped so I thought as how you must be took sudden bad. Never saw any one so startled-like, and all about a bit o' news that is quite valueless, and as likely as not may not 'ave a word of truth in it."

He picked up a rake and made a movement as though to go away.

"Don't go, Sammy," I said quite humbly. "Your news is almost-epoch-making. I admit I-amvastly interested. Sit down and tell me all about it. Who told you, and when is he coming?"

There are occasions when one must humble one's self even to one's servitors.

Sammy resumed his seat on the tree stump. There was a look of supreme happiness on his wrinkled, weathered old face, and he rolled his sentences round as though they were toothsome delicacies.

"It was 'is 'ousekeeper who told me. I was passin' the farm, and she was shooin' some hens to bed, and"Isn't he married, then ?" I broke in.

Sammy regarded me severely.

"I can't do with hinterruptions, Miss Hazelt, when I'm tellin' a story."

I expressed my sorrow, and he continued

"She was shooin' some hens to bed, and one, like the silly things they is, got through a hole in the 'edge, and comes screechin' down the lane, with the 'ouse

keeper-whose name is Mrs. Egerton-after it. She nearly ran into my hopen arms, and the two of us were nigh on ten minutes of the clock persuin' that darned fowl of the air before we persuaded it to go 'ome. Then most civil-like she asks me in for some refreshment, which I thought would be unfriendly to refuse, and I follers 'er into the kitchen, wonderin' what on earth could she be doin' there, as the 'ouse, as you know, has stood hempty since auld Crabby died. And the whole place looked as though a Cheap Jack was goin' to be held in it. Pots and pans, and pianers and pictures, and dolly-tubs and books, all muddled up in most hawful confusion; and when she sees me lookin' at it all, she says, 'You may well look.' 'Is it a jumble sale?' I asks. An' she says, 'No. It's Mr. Inderwick who is comin' to live 'ere. And I'm sortin' out some of his old uncle's rubbish. He must have been a rare old miser. Never saw such a collection in my life. Not a good pan or crock in the place. And the master comin' in a fortnight's time, and me got to get the whole place cleaned down and the new furniture in; it's more than one mortal pair of 'ands can do. And when I writes to 'im about it, he just writes back and tells me not to worry, but to be sure and put 'is split cane fishing-rod in a safe place and out of the dust. That's all he cares for, 'is fishin'-rods and books, and not a decent coat to his back.'

"Did she say that?" I asked with uncontrolled interest.

"She did so, Miss Hazelt. Those were 'er very words, 'Not a decent coat to his back.'

"Perhaps he's very poor," I suggested. But Sammy waved this on one side.

"Crabby left him every sixpence of 'is money.' "No!" I said.

"Yes," said he; "and the farm and all the land and stock, and he's goin' to start farmin'."

"But he wasn't a farmer," I objected. "I remember he was going to be a―a something in a profession—a barrister or a doctor."

"Can't help that," said Sammy doggedly. "He's goin' to start farmin' now. His own 'ousekeeper says so, and she ought to know."

"Oh, of course!" I agreed. "Go on, Sammy; and -and he's not married, and he must be getting quite old."

"He may be married," said Sammy cautiously; "there's no tellin'. Mrs. Egerton didn't mention it. I'm only tellin' you what she tells me. I likes to stick to the truth. He may be married and-divorced. I 'ave 'eard of divorced 'usbands, and I don't wonder. Wimin are dry hash, Miss Hazelt."

"Yes, yes, Sammy," I interrupted hastily, "so you have often remarked; but don't you think he might -might be a widower?"

"No," said Sammy with extreme firmness, "I think it's most himprobable. Wives never dies before their 'usbands, never wunst in their lives."

I lay back to consider this startling proposition, racking my brains for one widower among my somewhat limited acquaintances to refute this statement, when I caught sight of Angela's parasol on the other side of the white gate.

"Sammy," I said, "I think I can see mother and Miss Angela. I may be wrong; but don't you think the petunia bed requires a little weeding? Miss Angela likes the front of the house to be kept tidy."

CHAPTER II

On How I Became Acquainted With Mr. Inderwick

A

ND so Mr. Inderwick was coming to live in
Heathland! The Mr. Inderwick I knew of old,

and loved so well. Yes, loved, and I inscribe the word with calm assurance, for I was but seven years of age in the days when I set him up on a pedestal and worshipped him with childlike ardor-the big, grave, quiet man with the slow speech and kindly smile; the man who lifted me over the stiles and rough places and called me "little comrade."

I smile now when I think of the manner in which I scraped acquaintance with him. It was on an afternoon of midsummer, and I was on the shore wading barefooted in a little warm pool of water left by the tide, searching for crabs and mussels and baby eels, and congratulating myself on my escape from the clutches of Miss Timmins, when a big man came along the sands. He was absorbed in a book and was a stranger to me. He appeared to be making straight for my little pool and to have every intention of walking over me. Nearer and nearer he came, and just as he was upon me I said politely—