of French workmen
in the town. The waste and disorder of those who were in the house
when her husband first brought her there had appalled her; and the
women so resented any attempt at teaching, on the part of the
French madam, that after she had tried several sets with equally
bad results, John Fletcher had consented to the introduction of
French girls; bargaining only that he was to have good English
fare, and not French kickshaws. The Huguenot customs had been kept
up, and night and morning the house servants, with the French
neighbours and their families, all assembled for prayer in the
farmhouse.

To this John Fletcher had agreed without demur. His father had been
a Protestant, when there was some danger in being so; and he
himself had been brought up soberly and strictly. Up to the time of
his accident there had been two congregations, he himself reading
the prayers to his farm hands, while Lucie afterwards read them in
her own language to her maids; but as the French labourers took the
place of the English hands, only one service was needed.

When John Fletcher first regained sufficient strength to take much
interest in what was passing round, he was alarmed at the increase
in the numbers of those who attended these gatherings. Hitherto
four men had done the whole work of the farm; now there were
twelve.

"Lucie, dear," he said uneasily one day, "I know that you are a
capital manager; but it is impossible that a farm the size of ours
can pay, with so many hands on it. I have never been able to do
more than pay my way, and lay by a few pounds every year, with only
four hands, and many would have thought three sufficient; but with
twelve--and I counted them this morning--we must be on the highroad
to ruin."

"I will not ruin you, John. Do you know how much money there was in
your bag when you were hurt, just a year ago now?"

"Yes, I know there were thirty-three pounds."

His wife went out of the room and returned with a leather bag.

"Count them, John," she said.

There were forty-eight. Fifteen pounds represented a vastly greater
sum, at that time, than they do at present; and John Fletcher
looked up from the counting with amazement.

"This can't be all ours, Lucie. Your brother must have been helping
us."

"Not with a penny, doubting man," she laughed. "The money is yours,
all earned by the farm; perhaps not quite all, because we have not
more than half as many animals as we had before. But, as I