ent from the Hall
across Mrs. Meldreth's threshold; and it was noticed that Mrs. Meldreth
was occasionally admitted to Mrs. Vane's own room for a private
conference with the lady of Beechfield Hall herself. But those who
commented wonderingly on that fact were reminded that Mrs. Meldreth
added to her occupations that of sick-nurse, and that she had been in
attendance on Mrs. Vane at the time of the young Squire's birth. It was
natural that Mrs. Vane should be on more intimate terms with her than
with any other of the village women.

Mrs. Meldreth was not an interesting person in the eyes of the world at
large. She was a sad, silent, dull-faced individual, with blank looking
eyes and a dreary mouth. There were anxious lines on her forehead and
hollows in her pale cheeks, such as her easy circumstances did not
account for. That she "enjoyed very poor health," according to the
dictum of her neighbors, was considered by them to be a sufficient
reason for Mrs. Meldreth's evident lack of peace of mind.

Mr. Evandale set off for his visit to the sick woman early in the
afternoon. He was hindered on his way to her house by meeting with
various of his friends of the humbler sort, whom he did not like to pass
without a word, and it was after three o'clock before he reached Mrs.
Meldreth's cottage. He entered the shop, which looked duller and more
uninviting than ever, and found that it was tenanted only by a girl of
thirteen--a girl whom he knew to be the stupidest in the whole of the
village school.

"Well, Polly Moss," he said good-naturedly, "are you taking care of the
shop?"

Polly Moss, a girl whose mouth looked as if it would never close, beamed
at him with radiant satisfaction, and replied--

"Yes, sir--I'm minding the shop, sir. Did you want any groceries to-day,
please, sir?"

"No, thank you," said the Rector, smiling. "I have come to see Mrs.
Meldreth, who, I hear, is ill."

"Yes, sir," said Polly, in a tone of resigned affliction. "I thought
p'r'aps you was going to buy something, sir. I hain't sold anythink the
'ole afternoon."

"Polly," said Mr. Evandale, "how often am I to tell you to say the
'whole' afternoon, not the ''ole'?" The unlucky man had even made war on
the natives' practice of leaving out their "h's"! "'Whole,' with an 'h,'
remember! Well, I will buy something--what shall it be?--a pound of tea
perhaps. Ah, yes! Two shillings a pound, isn't it? Pack it up and send
it to the Rectory to-night, P