e are some elements of loss as
there are in all changes.

Wheels on the road! Mrs. Thornburgh woke up with a start, and stumbling
over newspaper and _couvre-pied_, hurried across the lawn as fast as her
short squat figure would allow, gray curls and cap-strings flying behind
her. She heard a colloquy in the distance in broad Westmoreland dialect,
and as she turned the corner of the house she nearly ran into her tall
cook, Sarah, whose impassive and saturnine countenance bore traces of
unusual excitement.

'Missis, there's naw cakes. They're all left behind on t' counter at
Randall's. Mr. Backhouse says as how he told old Jim to go fur 'em, and
he niver went, and Mr. Backhouse he niver found oot till he'd got past
t' bridge, and than it wur too late to go back.'

Mrs. Thornburgh stood transfixed, something of her fresh pink colour
slowly deserting her face as she realised the enormity of the
catastrophe. And was it possible that there was the faintest twinkle of
grim satisfaction on the face of that elderly minx, Sarah?

Mrs. Thornburgh, however, did not stay to explore the recesses of
Sarah's mind, but ran with little pattering, undignified steps across
the front garden and down the steps to where Mr. Backhouse the carrier
stood, bracing himself for self-defence.

'Ya may weel fret, mum,' said Mr. Backhouse, interrupting the flood of
her reproaches, with the comparative _sang-froid_ of one who knew that,
after all, he was the only carrier on the road, and that the vicarage
was five miles from the necessaries of life; 'it's a bad job, and I's
not goin' to say it isn't. But ya jest look 'ere, mum, what's a man to
du wi' a daft thingamy like _that_, as caan't teak a plain order, and
spiles a poor man's business as caan't help hissel'?'

And Mr. Backhouse pointed with withering scorn to a small, shrunken old
man, who sat dangling his legs on the shaft of the cart, and whose
countenance wore a singular expression of mingled meekness and
composure, as his partner flourished an indignant finger towards him.

'Jim,' cried Mrs. Thornburgh reproachfully, 'I did think you would have
taken more pains about my order!'

'Yis, mum,' said the old man placidly, 'ya might 'a' thowt it. I's reet
sorry, bit ya caan't help these things _sum_times--an' it's naw gud, a
hollerin' ower 'em like a mad bull. Aa tuke yur bit paper to Randall's
and aa laft it wi' 'em to mek up, an' than, aa, weel, aa went to a
frind, an' ee _may_ hev giv'