gracious! Why--but wudden 'ee ruther 'ave a cup of tay, sur?"

"I am afraid it would be troubling you."

"Trouble! Nothin' of the sort. Besides, I be goin' to 'ave one myzelf.
Ef you'll jist wait two or three minits 't 'll be ready. There, you go
and set in the armchair there, while I d' git et."

For the first time he realised that he was tired. He accepted the
woman's invitation, and sat down. How quiet and peaceful everything was!
Not a sound save the ticking of the eight-day clock and the kettle
singing on the glowing embers. A little later Mrs. Pethick laid a snowy
cloth on the end of the table nearest Leicester, and then brought a loaf
of white bread and a basin of clotted cream.

"There now," she said presently, "draw yer cheer up and 'ave some tay;
't 'll be better than cloggy stuff like milk on a 'ot day like this."

It did not seem strange that this woman should treat him so kindly. He
knew that her hospitality was nothing uncommon in rural districts.
Nevertheless, he felt thankful to her. The sight of her face did him
good.

"Es the tay to yer likin', then?" she asked.

"It is beautiful tea," he replied. "As for your Devonshire cream, 'tis
delicious."

"I'm glad you like 'et, but I'd allays call et Cornish craim. I've lived
'ere now better'n twenty 'ear, but I can never make out that I bean't in
Cornwall. I caan't fer sure. I was raired there, you zee. 'Ave 'ee ever
bin to Cornwall then, zur, maakin' so bowld?"

"Never."

"Then you shud, zur. Some people do like Devonshire best, but I've never
seed nothin' in Devonshire so purty as Truro revver. Besides, I do miss
the Cornish revivals, I do."

"Revivals?"

"Iss; I was converted at a revival, I was. Not but wot we do 'ave good
meetin's over to the Brianite Chapel, but ted'n like Cornwall. Be you a
perfessor yerself then, sur?"

"A professor?--what of?"

"Of religion, zur. Be 'ee a perfessin' Christian?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied.

"Ah," she said, "I thot I ded'n see the joy of the Lord in yer eyes."

Try as he would, he could not help laughing. But there was nothing
derisive in his laughter. The woman was too sincere.

"I am afraid I've seen too much of the devil to have the joy of the
Lord," he replied.

"Aw, my deear," she said, dropping into the Cornish vernacular, "you do
mind me of a gen'l'man wot called 'ere years and years agone, afore my
'usband and my pore dear boy died."

"Oh," said Leicester, "what gentleman?"

"Not t