k after "King George," my blunderbuss, while I
went round to the village to see if anything was stirring about the
dwelling of Constable Jacky. She would only permit me to do this on
condition that I proved the gun unloaded, and permitted her to lock it
carefully in one cupboard, while the powder and shot reposed each on a
separate shelf outside in the kitchen, lest being left to themselves the
elements of destruction might run together and blow up the house.

I scudded through the village, passing from one end of the long street
to the other. Constable Jacky in his shirt sleeves, was peaceably
peeling potatoes on his doorstep, while with a pipe in his mouth Boyd
Connoway was looking on and telling him how. The village of Eden Valley
was never quieter. Several young men of the highest consideration were
waiting within call of the millinery establishment of the elder Miss
Huntingdon, on the chance of being able to lend her "young ladies" stray
volumes of Rollin's _Ancient History_, Defoe's _Religious Courtship_, or
such other volumes as were likely to fan the flame of love's young dream
in their hearts. I saw Miss Huntingdon herself taking stock of them
through the window, and as it were, separating the sheep from the goats.
For she was a particular woman, Miss Huntingdon, and never allowed the
lightest attentions to "her young ladies" without keeping the parents of
her charges fully posted on the subject.

All, therefore, was peace in the village of Eden Valley. Yet I nearly
chanced upon war. My grandmother called aloud to some one as I passed
along the street. For a moment I thought she had caught me, in spite of
the cap which I had pulled down over my eyes and the coat collar I had
pulled up above my ears.

If she got me, I made sure that she would instantly come to the great
house of Marnhoul with all the King's horses and all the King's men--and
so, as it were, spoil the night from which I expected so much.

But it was the slouching figure of Boyd Connoway which had attracted her
attention. As I sped on I heard her asking details as to the amount of
work he had done that day, how he expected to keep his wife and family
through the winter, whether he had split enough kindling wood and
brought in the morning's supply of water--also (most unkindly of all)
who had paid for the tobacco he was smoking.

To these inquiries, all put within the space of half-a-minute, I could
not catch Connoway's replies. Nor did I wait