"The Revercombs over at the mill are kicking up a row, mother," he said
suddenly, again filling his wine glass and again putting it down empty,
"have they any sort of standing in the county, do you suppose?"

"I've heard they call themselves connections of the Revercombs higher in
the State, dear--but I don't know and I've never come into contact with
any of the country people about here. Kesiah may be able to tell you."

Until then neither of them had alluded to Kesiah, whom they accepted
by ignoring much as if she had been one of the familiar pieces of
furniture, at which they never glanced because they were so firmly
convinced that it stood in its place. She had eaten her dinner with the
relish of a person to whom food, taken at regular hours three times a
day, has become the prime consolation in life; and when the question
was put to her, she was obliged to ask them to repeat it because she had
been thoughtfully regarding a dish of baked tomatoes and wondering if a
single yielding to temptation would increase a tendency to the gout that
had lately developed.

"What do you know of the Revercombs, Kesiah? Are they in any degree
above the common people about here?"

"The miller is a rather extraordinary character, I believe," she
answered, lifting the spoon out of the dish of tomatoes as it was handed
to her, and then shaking her head with a sigh and letting it fall. "Mr.
Chamberlayne says he is quite well educated, but the rest of them, of
course, are very primitive and plain. They have always been strait-laced
and honest and I hear that the mother--she came from Piping Tree and
was one of the Hawtreys--is violently opposed to her son's marriage
with Molly Merryweather. There is a daughter, also, who is said to be
beautiful though rather dull."

"Yes, I've seen the girl," observed Mrs. Gay, "heavy and blond, isn't
she? The mother, I should say, is decidedly the character of the family.
She has rather terrible convictions, and once a great many years ago,
she came over here--forced her way into my sick-room to rebuke me about
the behaviour of the servants or something. Your Uncle Jonathan was
obliged to lead her out and pacify her--she was quite upset, I remember.
By the way, Kesiah," she pursued, "haven't I heard that Mr. Mullen is
attentive to the daughter? It seems a pity, for he is quite a superior
young man--his sermons are really remarkable, and he might easily have
done better."

"Oh, that was when he f