s. So he was still sitting when Mr. Archer entered the
kitchen. At this a light came into his face, and after some seconds of
rumination he despatched Nance upon an errand.

"Mr. Archer," said he, as soon as they were alone together, "would you
give me a guinea-piece for silver?"

"Why, sir, I believe I can," said Mr. Archer.

And the exchange was just effected when Nance re-entered the apartment.
The blood shot into her face.

"What's to do here?" she asked rudely.

"Nothing, my dearie," said old Jonathan, with a touch of whine.

"What's to do?" she said again.

"Your uncle was but changing me a piece of gold," returned Mr. Archer.

"Let me see what he hath given you, Mr. Archer," replied the girl. "I
had a bad piece, and I fear it is mixed up among the good."

"Well, well," replied Mr. Archer, smiling, "I must take the merchant's
risk of it. The money is now mixed."

"I know my piece," quoth Nance. "Come, let me see your silver, Mr.
Archer. If I have to get it by a theft I'll see that money," she cried.

"Nay, child, if you put as much passion to be honest as the world to
steal, I must give way, though I betray myself," said Mr. Archer. "There
it is as I received it."

Nance quickly found the bad half-crown.

"Give him another," she said, looking Jonathan in the face; and when
that had been done, she walked over to the chimney and flung the guilty
piece into the reddest of the fire. Its base constituents began
immediately to run; even as she watched it the disc crumbled, and the
lineaments of the King became confused. Jonathan, who had followed close
behind, beheld these changes from over her shoulder, and his face
darkened sorely.

"Now," said she, "come back to table, and to-day it is I that shall say
grace, as I used to do in the old times, day about with Dick"; and
covering her eyes with one hand, "O Lord," said she with deep emotion,
"make us thankful; and, O Lord, deliver us from evil! For the love of
the poor souls that watch for us in heaven, O deliver us from evil."

CHAPTER VII

THE BLEACHING-GREEN

The year moved on to March; and March, though it blew bitter keen from
the North Sea, yet blinked kindly between whiles on the river dell. The
mire dried up in the closest covert; life ran in the bare branches, and
the air of the afternoon would be suddenly sweet with the fragrance of
new grass.

Above and below the castle the river crooked like the letter "S." The
lower loop was to