ts were reserved as a crowning decoration, all
except her mourning ring made of a lock of her father's hair.

It was the first time she had been to market since his death, and she
knew that folks would stare, so she might as well give them something to
stare at. Outside the front door, in the drive, old Stuppeny was
holding the head of Foxy, her mare, harnessed to the neat trap that
Thomas Godden had bought early the same year.

"Hullo, Stuppeny--you ain't coming along like that!" and Joanna's eye
swept fiercely up and down his manure-caked trousers.

"I never knew as I wur coming along anywheres, Miss Joanna."

"You're coming along of me to the market. Surely you don't expect a lady
to drive by herself?"

Old Stuppeny muttered something unintelligible.

"You go and put on your black coat," continued Joanna.

"My Sunday coat!" shrieked Stuppeny.

"Yes--quick! I can't wait here all day."

"But I can't put on my good coat wudout cleaning myself, and it'll taeake
me the best part o' the marnun to do that."

Joanna saw the reasonableness of his objection.

"Oh, well, you can leave it this once, but another time you remember and
look decent. To-day it'll do if you go into the kitchen and ask Grace to
take a brush to your trousers--and listen here!" she called after him as
he shambled off--"if she's making cocoa you can ask her to give you a
cup."

Grace evidently was making cocoa--a habit she had whenever her
mistress's back was turned--for Stuppeny did not return for nearly a
quarter of an hour. He looked slightly more presentable as he climbed
into the back of the trap. It struck Joanna that she might be able to
get him a suit of livery secondhand.

"There isn't much he's good for on the farm now at his age, so he may as
well be the one to come along of me. Broadhurst or Luck ud look a bit
smarter, but it ud be hard to spare them.... Stuppeny ud look different
in a livery coat with brass buttons.... I'll look around for one if I've
time this afternoon."

It was nearly seven miles from Ansdore to Lydd, passing the Woolpack,
and the ragged gable of Midley Chapel--a reproachful ruin among the
reeds of the Wheelsgate Sewer. Foxy went smartly, but every now and then
they had to slow down as they overtook and passed flocks of sheep and
cattle being herded along the road by drovers and shepherds in dusty
boots, and dogs with red, lolling tongues. It was after midday when the
big elm wood which had been their hori