y.

"Every mossel," said the butcher--"(now, Dan, take that leg and shoulder
to Mrs. White's, and this eleven pound here to Mr. Martin's)--you've been
treating her to smaller joints lately, to my thinking, Mr. Day?"

"Only two or three little scram rabbits this last week, as I am alive--I
wish I had!"

"Well, my wife said to me--(Dan! not too much, not too much on that tray
at a time; better go twice)--my wife said to me as she posted up the
books: she says, 'Miss Day must have been affronted this summer during
that hot muggy weather that spolit so much for us; for depend upon't,'
she says, 'she've been trying John Grimmett unknown to us: see her
account else.' 'Tis little, of course, at the best of times, being only
for one, but now 'tis next kin to nothing."

"I'll inquire," said Geoffrey despondingly.

He returned by way of Mellstock, and called upon Fancy, in fulfilment of
a promise. It being Saturday, the children were enjoying a holiday, and
on entering the residence Fancy was nowhere to be seen. Nan, the
charwoman, was sweeping the kitchen.

"Where's my da'ter?" said the keeper.

"Well, you see she was tired with the week's teaching, and this morning
she said, 'Nan, I sha'n't get up till the evening.' You see, Mr. Day, if
people don't eat, they can't work; and as she've gie'd up eating, she
must gie up working."

"Have ye carried up any dinner to her?"

"No; she don't want any. There, we all know that such things don't come
without good reason--not that I wish to say anything about a broken
heart, or anything of the kind."

Geoffrey's own heart felt inconveniently large just then. He went to the
staircase and ascended to his daughter's door.

"Fancy!"

"Come in, father."

To see a person in bed from any cause whatever, on a fine afternoon, is
depressing enough; and here was his only child Fancy, not only in bed,
but looking very pale. Geoffrey was visibly disturbed.

"Fancy, I didn't expect to see thee here, chiel," he said. "What's the
matter?"

"I'm not well, father."

"How's that?"

"Because I think of things."

"What things can you have to think o' so mortal much?"

"You know, father."

"You think I've been cruel to thee in saying that that penniless Dick o'
thine sha'n't marry thee, I suppose?"

No answer.

"Well, you know, Fancy, I do it for the best, and he isn't good enough
for thee. You know that well enough." Here he again looked at her as
she lay. "Well, Fancy,