n they met. "Tom
and his wife quarrel so that we can hear them through the walls. And
Grannie sits by the hour without opening her mouth. And mother and Nance
are as quiet as if they were going to be sick. And I'm getting
green-mouldy. Seems as if we'd got to the end of things, and nothing was
ever going to happen again. I think I'll go to Guernsey."

"Do you think they'd like--I mean, would they mind if I came in for a
chat now and then? It's pretty lonely up at Plaisance too."

"Oh, they'll mind and so will I. When'll you come?"

"I'll look in to-night as I come from the mines--if you're sure--"

"You come and try, and if you don't like it you needn't come
again"--with a twinkle of the eye.

Nance did not strike him as looking as though she were going to be sick,
when he went in that night, nor did her mother.

Grannie indeed had little to say, but then she was never over-talkative,
and when Gard more than once looked at her, and wondered if she had
fallen asleep, he always found the keen old eyes wide open, and eyeing
him watchfully as ever out of the depths of the big black sun-bonnet.

Mrs. Hamon asked about his new quarters, and his quiet shake of the head
and simple--"They're kindly folk, but it's somehow very different"--told
its own tale.

"They're a bit short-handed, you see," he added, "and so they're all
kept busy, and at times, I'm afraid, they wish me further."

"And you go all that way back for your dinner each day?" asked Mrs.
Hamon thoughtfully.

"Well, I have tried taking it with me, but it's not very satisfactory."

"What would you say to coming here for it, as you used to? I think we
could manage it, Nance. What do you say?"

"We could manage it all right," said Nance, "if--" and then, in spite of
herself, she could not keep that telltale mouth of hers in order, and
the attempt to repress a smile only emphasized the dimples at the
corners. For Gard's face was as eager as a dog's at sight of a rat.

"It will save me such a lot of time," he explained--at which Nance
dimpled again as she went out to feed her chickens, and left them to
complete the new arrangement.

And if it had cost Gard every penny of his salary he would still have
rejoiced at it, and considered his bargain a good one. As it was, it
cost him no more than the trouble of rearranging his terms with the good
folks at Plaisance, and it gave a new zest and enjoyment to life since
it ensured a meeting with Nance at least once