t sides shaking as she waddled, and her
short, stout arms violently gesticulating. Joan needed nothing more
than the good woman's back view to tell her that the dame was very
angry, and that it was the stranger who had inspired her wrath. She
waited, smiling, for the _denouement_.

It came quickly. It came with the reappearance of the stranger round
the corner of the barn. What a splendid specimen of a man, she
thought, as she watched the expression of unruffled calm on his strong
features. His shirt sleeves were rolled well up above his elbows, and
even at that distance she could see the deep furrows in his arms
where the rope-like muscles stood out beneath the thin, almost
delicate skin.

But her attention was quickly diverted by the clacking of the
farm-wife's tongue. She could hear it where she sat with the window
tight shut. And though she could not hear the words it was plain
enough from the violence of her gesticulations that she was rating the
patient man soundly. So patent was it, so dreadful, that even in her
keenest interest Joan found herself wondering if Mr. Ransford were
dead, and hoping that, if he were, his decease had occurred in early
youth.

Nor had the man made any attempt at response. She was sure of it,
because she had watched his firm lips, and they had not moved. Perhaps
he had found retort impossible. It was quite possible, for the other
had not paused a moment in her tirade. What a flow. It was colossal,
stupendous. Joan felt sorry for the man.

What a patience he had. Nor had his expression once altered. He merely
displayed the thoughtful attention that one might bestow, listening to
a brilliant conversationalist or an interesting story. It was too
ridiculous, and Joan began to laugh.

Then the end came abruptly and without warning. Mrs. Ransford just
swung about and trotted furiously back to the house. Her face was
flaming, and her fat arms, flourishing like unlimber flails, were
pointing every verbal threat she hurled over her shoulder at the spot
where the man had stood. Yes, he had vanished again round the corner
of the barn, and the poor woman's best efforts were quite lost upon
the warm summer air.

But her purpose was obvious, and Joan prepared herself for a
whirlwind visitation. Nor had she long to wait. There was a shuffling
of feet out in the passage, and, the next moment, the door of her room
was unceremoniously flung open and the indignant woman staggered in.

"Well, of a