they gave up the attempt as hopeless, and it remained an unexplained
mystery why Mr Tankardew came to Hopeworth, and where he came from. As
for questioning the old gentleman himself, no one had the hardihood to
undertake it; and indeed he gave them little opportunity, as he very
rarely showed his face out of his own door; so rumour had to say what it
pleased, and among other things, rumour said that the old dressing-gown
in which he was ordinarily seen was never off duty, either day or night.

Mr Tankardew employed no agent, but collected his own rents; which he
required to be paid to himself half-yearly, in the beginning of January
and July, at his own residence.

It was on one crisp, frosty, cheery January morning that Mr Rothwell,
and his son Mark, a young lad of eighteen, were ushered into Mr
Tankardew's sitting-room; if that could be properly called a sitting-
room, in which nobody seemed ever to sit, to judge by the deep unruffled
coating of dust which reposed on every article, the chairs included.
Respect for their own garments caused father and son to stand while they
waited for their landlord; but, before he made his appearance, two more
visitors were introduced, or rather let into the room by old Molly, who,
considering her duty done when she had given them an entrance into the
apartment, never troubled herself as to their further comfort and
accommodation.

A strange contrast were these visitors to the old room and its
furniture. Mr Rothwell was a tall and rather portly man with a
pleasant countenance, a little flushed, indicating a somewhat free
indulgence in what is certainly miscalled "good living." The cast of
his features was that of a person easy-going, good-tempered, and happy;
but a line or two of care here and there, and an occasional wrinkling up
of the forehead showed that the surface was not to be trusted. Mark,
his son, was like him, and the very picture of good humour and light-
heartedness; so buoyant, indeed, that at times he seemed indebted to
spirits something more than "animal." But the brightness had not yet
had any of the gilding rubbed off--everyone liked him, no one could be
dull where he was. Mrs Franklin, how sweet and lovable her gentle
face! You could tell that, whatever she might have lost, she had gained
grace--a glow from the Better Land gave her a heavenly cheerfulness.
And Mary--she had all her mother's sweetness without the shadow from
past sorrows, and her laugh was