ell for him she's polled. Yet all he says is
Patience.' But I say, will patience keep us all from rack and ruin?"

And he went away shaking his head.

"Why did you laugh?" stormed Joscelyn, as soon as he was out of earshot.

"How could I help it?" pleaded Martin. "When the old man laughed
because you laughed, and you laughed for another reason--hadn't I a
third reason to laugh? But how you glared at me! I am sorry I laughed.
Let us have breakfast."

"You think of nothing but mealtimes," said Joscelyn crossly; and she
carried Gillian's bread to the Well-House, where she discovered only
the little round top of yesterday's loaf. For every crumb of the bigger
half had been eaten. So Joscelyn came away all smiles, tossing the ball
of bread in the air, and saying as she caught it, "I do believe Gillian
is forgetting her sorrow."

"I am certain of it," agreed Martin, clapping his hands. And she flung
the top of the loaf to his right, and he made a great leap to the left
and caught it. And then he threw it to Jessica, who tossed it to Joan,
who sent it to Joyce, who whirled it to Jennifer, who spun it to Jane,
who missed it. And all the girls ran to pick it up first, but Martin
with a dexterous kick landed it in the duckpond, where the drake got
it. And he and the ducks squabbled over it during the next hour, while
Martin and the milkmaids breakfasted on bread and apples with no
squabbling and great good spirits.

And after breakfast Martin lay on his back, chewing a grassblade and
counting the florets on another, whispering to himself as he plucked
them one by one. And the girls watched him. He did it several times
with several blades of grass, and always looked disappointed at the end.

"Won't it come right?" asked little Joan.

"Won't what come right?" said Martin.

"Oh, I know what you're doing," said little Joan; and she too plucked a
blade and began to count--

"Tinker,
Tailor,
Soldier,
Sailor"--

"I'm sure I wasn't," said Martin. "Tailor indeed!"

"Well, something like that," said Joan.

"Nothing at all like that. Oh, Mistress Joan! a tailor. Why, even if I
were a maid like yourselves, do you think I'd give fate the chance to
set me on my husband's cross-knees for the rest of my life?"

"What would you do then if you were a maid?" asked Joyce.

"If I were a town-maid," said Martin, "I should choose the most
delightful husbands in the city streets." And plucking a fresh blade he
counted aloud,