s your father lies in Thursley Churchyard,"
answered the servant.

"I mean I should like to speak with Mr. Verstage."

"Oh! the landlord?"

"Yes; the landlord. Where is he?"

"Don' know. Somewhere about, I reckon."

"It is cold, and my child is ill. I would go into the kitchen, by
the fire."

"Why don't you then go home?"

"I have no home."

"Oh! it's come to that, is it?"

"Yes. Let me in."

"No, indeed. This ain't the place for you. If you think you're
goyne to be mistress and order about here you're mistaken. You go
along; I'm goyne to shut the door."

Mehetabel had not the spirit to resent this insolence.

She turned in the porch and left the inn, that had once been her
home, and the only home in which she had found happiness.

She made her way to the fields that belonged to Simon Verstage,
and after wandering through a ploughed glebe she found him.

"Ah, Matabel!" said he, "glad to see you. What brings you here so
early in the day?"

"Dear father, I cannot tell you all, but I have left Bideabout.
I can stay with him no longer, something has happened. Do not
press me to tell--at least not now. I can never return to the
Punch-Bowl. Will you take me in?"

The old man mused.

"I'll consult Polly. I don't know what she'll say to it. I'm rather
dependent on her now. You see, I know nothing of the house, I
always put that into Susanna's charge, and now poor Sanna is gone,
Polly has taken the management. Of course, she makes mistakes, but
wun'erfully few. In fact, it is wun'erful how she fits into Sanna's
place, and manages the house and all--just as if she had been
brought up to it. I'll go and ask her. I couldn't say yes without,
much as I might wish."

Mehetabel shook her head.

The old man was become feeble and dependent. He had no longer a
will of his own:

"I will not trouble you, dear father, to ask Polly. I am quite
sure what her answer will be. I must go further. Who is Guardian?"

"That's Timothy Puttenham, the wheelwright."

Then Mehetabel turned back in the direction of the village and
came in front of the shop. Puttenham and his apprentice were
engaged on the fire, and Mehetabel stood, with the babe folded
in her arms, watching them at work. They might not be disturbed
at the critical period when the tire was red hot and had to be
fitted to the wheel.

A circle of flame and glowing ashes and red-hot iron was on the
ground. At a little distance lay a flat iron disc, called the