stroke the farmer had revealed the hollowness of his pretensions. Only
that morning the wife of a labourer had called and asked him to hurry the
mending of a pair of boots. She was a voluble woman, and having overcome
her preliminary nervousness more than hinted that if he gave less time to
the law and more to his trade it would be better for himself and
everybody else.

Miss Rose accepted her lot in a spirit of dutiful resignation, and on
Saturday morning after her father's admonition not to forget that the
coach left the White Swan at two sharp, set off to pay a few farewell
visits. By half-past twelve she had finished, and Lawyer Quince becoming
conscious of a shadow on his work looked up to see her standing before
the window. He replied to a bewitching smile with a short nod and became
intent upon his work again.

For a short time Celia lingered, then to his astonishment she opened the
gate and walked past the side of the house into the garden. With growing
astonishment he observed her enter his tool-shed and close the door
behind her.

For ten minutes he worked on and then, curiosity getting the better of
him, he walked slowly to the tool-shed and, opening the door a little
way, peeped in. It was a small shed, crowded with agricultural
implements. The floor was occupied by an upturned wheelbarrow, and
sitting on the barrow, with her soft cheek leaning against the wall, sat
Miss Rose fast asleep. Mr. Quince coughed several times, each cough
being louder than the last, and then, treading softly, was about to
return to the workshop when the girl stirred and muttered in her sleep.
At first she was unintelligible, then he distinctly caught the words
"idiot" and "blockhead."

"She's dreaming of somebody," said Mr. Quince to himself with conviction.

"Wonder who it is?"

"Can't see--a thing--under--his--nose," murmured the fair sleeper.

"Celia!" said Mr. Quince, sharply. "Celia!"

He took a hoe from the wall and prodded her gently with the handle. A
singularly vicious expression marred the soft features, but that was all.

"Ce-lia!" said the shoemaker, who feared sun-stroke.

"Fancy if he--had--a moment's common sense," murmured Celia, drowsily,
"and locked--the door."

Lawyer Quince dropped the hoe with a clatter and stood regarding her
open-mouthed. He was a careful man with his property, and the stout door
boasted a good lock. He sped to the house on tip-toe, and taking the key
from its na