eye. "How's that?" he repeated.

"He's allus stopping short too soon," said Gubblum. "My missis, she said
to me last back end, 'Gubblum,' she said, 'dusta mind as it's allus
summer when the cuckoo is in the garden?' 'That's what is is,' I said.
'Well,' she said, 'dusta not think it wad allus be summer if the cuckoo
could allus be kept here?' 'Maybe so,' I says; 'but easier said nor
done.' 'Shaf on you for a clothead!' says she; 'nowt so simple. When you
get the cuckoo into the garden, build a wall round and keep it in.' And
that's what I did; and I built it middling high, too, but it warn't high
enough, for, wad ye think it, one day I saw the cuckoo setting off, and
it just skimmed the top of that wall by a bare inch. Now, if I'd no'but
put another stone--"

A loud peal of laughter was Gubblum's swift abridgment. The peddler
tapped the mouth of his pipe on his thumb-nail, and smiled under his
shaggy brows.

CHAPTER II.

When Parson Christian finished his plowing, the day was far spent. He
gave the boy a shilling as day's wage for leading the horses, drove the
team back to their owner, Robert Atkinson, paid five shillings for the
day's hire of them, and set out for home. On the way thither he called
at Henry Walmsley's, the grocery store in the village, and bought half a
pound of tea, a can of coffee, and a stone of sugar; then at Randal
Alston's, the shoemaker's, and paid for the repairing of a pair of
boots, and put them under his arm; finally, he looked in at the Flying
Horse and called for a pot of ale, and drank it, and smoked a pipe and
had a crack with Tommy Lowthwaite, the publican.

The mist had risen as the day wore on, and now that the twilight was
creeping down the valley, the lane to the vicarage could be plainly seen
in its yellow carpeting of fallen leaves. An outer door of the house
stood open, and a rosy glow streamed from the fire into the porch. Not
less bright was the face within that was waiting to welcome the old
vicar home.

"Back again, Greta, back again!" shouted the parson, rolling into the
cozy room with his ballast under either arm. "There--wait--fair play,
girl--ah, you rogue!--now that's what I call a mean advantage!"

There was a smack of lips, a little laugh in a silvery voice with a
merry lilt in it, and then a deep-toned mutter of affected protestation
breaking down into silence and a broad smile.

At arms-length Greta glanced at the parson's burdens, and summoned an
a