arrival beyond socketing his whip in its stall, in
token of its abdication. He had been told to come and wait, and he
proceeded to wait, _sine die_. Gwen interrupted him in this employment,
by coming out to tell him that she was stopping on, and that he was to
go back to the Towers and say so. He looked so depressed at this that
she bethought her of a compensation. She knew that Ruth Thrale had cause
for anxiety about her own daughter; and, so far as could be seen, her
immediate presence was not necessary, for no change appeared imminent.
So she persuaded, or half-commanded, Ruth to be driven over to Denby's
Farm by Tom Kettering, to remain there two or three hours, and be
brought back by him or otherwise, as might be convenient. Her son-in-law
might drive her back, and Tom might return to the Towers. It would make
her mind easier to see Maisie junior, and get a forecast of
probabilities at the farm. Ruth was not hard to prevail upon to do this,
and was driven away by Tom over slushy roads, through the irresolute
Winter's unseasonable Christmas Eve, after delegating some of her
functions to Elizabeth-next-door.

Old Maisie still remained asleep, and almost motionless. With some help
from Elizabeth-next-door the perfunctory midday meal had been served,
very little more than looked at, and cleared away; then the motionless
figure on the bed stirred visibly, breathed almost audibly. At this time
of the day vitality is at its best, with most of us. Gwen, standing by
the bedside, saw the lips move, and, bending forward, heard speech.

When she said, a moment after:--"I think I must have been asleep. I'm
awake now,"--she uttered the words much as Gwen had always heard her
speak. Yet another moment, and she said:--"I was dreaming, Phoebe dear,
dreaming of our mill. And I was asking for you in my dream. Because Dave
was up in our mulberry-tree, and wouldn't come down." She showed how
perfectly clear her head was, by saying to Gwen:--"My dear, if I could
have kept asleep, I would have seen Phoebe young again. You would never
think how young she was then."

Gwen felt that she was nowise bound to dwell on the futility of dreams,
and said, as she caressed the old hand's weak hold on her own:--"Was
Dave eating too many mulberries in that tree?"

Old Maisie smiled happily at the thought of Dave. "His hands were quite
purple with the juice," she said. "But he wouldn't come down, and went
on eating the mulberries. It was the tree by