ct. She had taken up her knitting, and her needles clicked and
glittered busily.

"Matt Peke left a bottle of his herb wine for you," she said. "There it
is."

She indicated by a jerk of her head a flat oblong quart flask, neatly
corked and tied with string, which lay on the counter. It was of a
conveniently portable shape, and Helmsley slipped it into one of his
coat pockets with ease.

"Shall you be seeing Peke soon again, Miss Tranter?" he asked.

"I don't know. Maybe so, and maybe not. He's gone on to Crowcombe. I
daresay he'll come back this way before the end of the month. He's a
pretty regular customer."

"Then, will you thank him for me, and say that I shall never forget his
kindness?"

"Never forget is a long time," said Miss Tranter. "Most folks forget
their friends directly their backs are turned."

"That's true," said Helmsley, gently; "but I shall not. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!" Miss Tranter paused in her knitting. "Which road are you
going from here?"

Helmsley thought a moment.

"Perhaps," he said at last, "one of the main roads would be best. I'd
rather not risk any chance of losing my way."

Miss Tranter stepped out of the bar and came to the open doorway of the
inn.

"Take that path across the moor," and she pointed with one of her bright
knitting needles to a narrow beaten track between the tufted grass,
whitened here and there by clusters of tall daisies, "and follow it as
straight as you can. It will bring you out on the highroad to Williton
and Watchett. It's a goodish bit of tramping on a hot day like this, but
if you keep to it steady you'll be sure to get a lift or so in waggons
going along to Dunster. And there are plenty of publics about where I
daresay you'd get a night's sixpenny shelter, though whether any of them
are as comfortable as the 'Trusty Man,' is open to question."

"I should doubt it very much," said Helmsley, his rare kind smile
lighting up his whole face. "The 'Trusty Man' thoroughly deserves trust;
and, if I may say so, its kind hostess commands respect."

He raised his cap with the deferential easy grace which was habitual to
him, and Miss Tranter's pale cheeks reddened suddenly and violently.

"Oh, I'm only a rough sort!" she said hastily. "But the men like me
because I don't give them away. I hold that the poor must get a bit of
attention as well as the rich."

"The poor deserve it more," rejoined Helmsley. "The rich get far too
much of everything in these