he could forestall a command by his own action he did. He came to the
Parson's side.

"Must be going, Phoebe," he remarked carelessly; "I've a heap of
things to do for to-night, you see. Morning, Mr. Lenine!"

And he set off again, with his thumbs in his belt.

CHAPTER III

THE KITCHEN

Annie Ruan and three of the children were assembled in the great kitchen
preparing for the supper party that was to be held after the Neck had
been cried. The world without was still steeped in the golden light of
full afternoon, but the small windows only looked on to the courtyard
and let little of the gleam into the low-ceiled room; dimness veiled the
corners, and through it each plate on the old dresser held a faintly
glimmering crescent of light. On a sheet of iron laid upon the open
hearth the last loaves of barley-bread were baking under a crock, and
Vassilissa Beggoe was preserving the leaven for next week's breadmaking
by the simple process of placing it in a saucer of water, where it would
mildew in peace.

Vassilissa was the youngest of the four Beggoes,--only three years older
than Ishmael. She was the most like Archelaus in face, and showed
promise of a sleek, white and gold beauty to come; at present, being far
too tall for her age, she seemed unable to manage her long legs and
arms, but her movements had the graceful ungainliness of a young animal.
She was muffled in a dirty print pinafore, and above its faded blue her
neck looked a delicate privet-white, and would have looked whiter still
had it been cleaner. In the dusk her little pale head, the shape of it
clearly defined by the way in which she wore her hair sticking stiffly
out from her nape in two tiny plaits, took on a quality suggestive of a
frescoed angel--a delicately-modelled, faintly-shadowed quality that she
might miss in a stronger light. Putting the saucer of leaven on the
untidy dresser, she spoke over her shoulder to her mother.

"I be gwain to give myself a rub over and put on my Sunday gown. I be
gwain now."

Annie paused in the act of washing a plate, and let the film of dirty
water run off it into the pan again. Then she drew a deep breath, as
though the greasy-smelling steam that wavered up towards her nostrils
were the sweetest of incense. Vassilissa, who was accustomed to this
silent gathering of the forces before her mother broke into specially
impassioned speech, began calmly to untie her pinafore.

"That's right!" cried Annie,