' times. 'What's
that?' she says; 'you don't mean to say that's a likeness o' thee? It
looks fool enough.' She says she never saw 'em again, he went straight
out and burnt 'em."

"He chose the wrong minit," said her husband beside her. "If he knew as
much about women as _I_ do, for instance."

"Just you mind," said his wife, warningly. "Why, Miss Hilton, whatever's
the matter?" she added, catching sight of Anne's face.

"It is such a painful story," rejoined Anne. "I cannot bear to think of
the poor young man's discomfiture."

"Well, I never!" ejaculated the farmer, as they drove away. "She's very
good, but, my word, she's very peculiar."

"If she was _really_ very good she'd try not to _be_ so peculiar,"
retorted his wife, nettled at the failure of her story. "Did you ever
see such a figure, with her dress all unbuttoned at the back showing her
stays."

"She's not got a husband to fasten the middle buttons," said the farmer
slyly. "She can't very well ask the pig, you know."

"Well, no, she can't," said his wife, good-naturedly; "but she tries my
patience pretty often."

"That's not so hard as it sounds," said the farmer, looking innocently
in front of him.

"Now, then," said his wife, "who wanted a potato-pie for supper?"

"I expect it was our Joseph," said the farmer.

"Not it," retorted his wife.

"Well, myself, I prefer women who aren't so peculiar," said the farmer.
"Even if they're not so good," he added.

"Take care," replied his wife. "That potato-pie isn't in the oven yet!"

CHAPTER IV

Anne Hilton got up when the sky was tinged with the sunrise, feeling
anew the security of recovered daylight after the stillness of the
lonely house during the night. There was little to put in order about
her house. "Where no oxen are the crib is clean," she would often quote.
There was absolute silence in the cottage, and as she opened the windows
she saw the first thin smoke, the incense of labour, rising from other
houses. The garden was fragrant with flowers, soon to be gathered and
made into bunches for the market. The increasing glory of the sky
promised another fine day for the harvest. She read the text on the
Calendar and made it the subject of her prayer, which she uttered aloud
with great fervour. Then she went down the stairs, which entered
directly into the kitchen, and lit the fire for her breakfast. The day
following was market-day, the day on which she depended for her living,
and to