sisters. And the more strange, that this likeness was actually detected
even in the half-dark, by an incomer much less habituated to her face
than many of them.

This casual incomer was Toft, the vagrant glazier, and--so said chance
report, lacking confirmation--larcenous vagrant. His Assyrian appearance
may have been responsible for this. It gave rise to the belief that he
was either Hebrew or Egyptian. And, of course, no Jew or gipsy could be
an honest man. That saw itself, in a primitive English village.

Toft had made his appearance at Strides Cottage just after dusk,
earnestly entreating to be allowed to replace the glass Toby's
chestnut-shot had broken, for nothing--yes, for nothing!--if Widow
Thrale was not inclined to go to fourpence for it. The reply was:--"'Tis
not the matter of the money, Master Toft. 'Tis because I grudge the
touching of a thing my mother sets store by, when she is not here
herself to overlook it." Now this was just after old Maisie had quitted
the room, to lie down and rest again before supper, having been led into
much talk about Dave. Toft had seen her. His answer to Widow Thrale
was:--"Will not the old wife come back, if I bide a bit for her coming?"
His mistake being explained to him, his comment was:--"Zookers! I'm all
in the wrong. But I tell ye true, mistress, I did think her hair was
gone white, against what I see on her head three months agone. And I was
of the mind she'd fell away a bit." Widow Thrale in the end consented to
allow the damage to be made good, she herself carefully removing the
precious treasure from its case, and locking it into a cupboard while
Toft replaced the broken glass. This done, under her unflagging
supervision, the model was replaced; fourpence changed hands, and the
glazier went his way, saying, as he made his exit:--"That _was_ a
chouse, mistress."

But Toft was the only person who saw the likeness; or, at any rate, who
confessed to seeing it. It is, of course, not at loggerheads with human
nature, that others saw it too, but kept the discovery to themselves. It
was so out of the question that the resemblance _should_ exist, that the
fact that it _did_ stood condemned on its merits. Therefore, silence!
Another possibility is that the intensely white hair, and the seeming
greater age, of old Maisie, had more than their due weight in heading
off speculation. Old Phoebe's teeth, too, made a much better show than
her sister's.

One thing is certain, tha