table
beside the window, pen in hand, and within easy reach of Anthea who sat
busied with her daily letters and accounts. Small Porges was laboriously
inscribing in a somewhat splashed and besmeared copy-book the rather
surprising facts that:

A stitch in time, saves nine. 9.

That:

The Tagus, a river in Spain. R.

and that:

Artaxerxes was a king of the Persians. A.

and the like surprising, curious, and interesting items of news, his pen
making not half so many curls, and twists as did his small, red tongue.
As he wrote, he frowned terrifically, and sighed oft betwixt whiles; and
Bellew watching, where he stood outside the window, noticed that Anthea
frowned also, as she bent over her accounts, and sighed wearily more
than once.

It was after a sigh rather more hopeless than usual that, chancing to
raise her eyes they encountered those of the watcher outside, who,
seeing himself discovered, smiled, and came to lean in at the
open window.

"Won't they balance?" he enquired, with a nod toward the heap of bills,
and papers before her.

"Oh yes," she answered with a rueful little smile, "but--on the wrong
side, if you know what I mean."

"I know," he nodded, watching how her lashes curled against her cheek.

"If only we had done better with our first crop of wheat!" she sighed.

"Job Jagway said it was mouldy, you know,--that's why Adam punched him
in the--"

"Georgy,--go on with your work, sir!"

"Yes, Auntie!" And immediately Small Porges' pen began to scratch, and
his tongue to writhe and twist as before.

"I'm building all my hopes, this year, on the hops," said Anthea,
sinking her head upon her hand, "if they should fail--"

"Well?" enquired Bellew, with his gaze upon the soft curve of her
throat.

"I--daren't think of it!"

"Then don't--let us talk of something else--"

"Yes,--of Aunt Priscilla!" nodded Anthea, "she is in the garden."

"And pray who is Aunt Priscilla?"

"Go and meet her."

"But--"

"Go and find her--in the orchard!" repeated Anthea, "Oh do go, and leave
us to our work."

Thus it was that turning obediently into the orchard, and looking about,
Bellew presently espied a little, bright-eyed old lady who sat beneath
the shadow of "King Arthur" with a rustic table beside her upon which
stood a basket of sewing. Now, as he went, he chanced to spy a ball of
worsted that had fallen by the way, and stooping, therefore, he picked
it up, while she watched him with her quick,