them it don't signify."

Mary nodded wisely. She knew, with the philosophy of a much older
experience, that she and gran'ther lived alone in a nest of kindly
aliens. As if their mention evoked a foreign presence, her mother's
voice sounded that instant from the door:--

"Mary, why under the sun didn't you come back? I sent word for you to
run over with her, father, an' have some supper. Well, if you two ain't
thick!"

"We're havin' a dish o' discourse," returned Nicholas quietly.

Young Nick's Hattie was forty-five, but she looked much younger. Extreme
plumpness had insured her against wrinkles, and her light brown hair was
banded smoothly back. Hattie's originality lay in a desire for color,
and therein she overstepped the bounds of all decorum. It was customary
to see her barred across with enormous plaids, or stripes going the
broad way; and so long had she lived under such insignia that no one
would have known her without them. She came in with soft, heavy
footfalls, and sat down in the little rocking-chair at Mr. Oldfield's
right hand. She smiled at him, somewhat nervously.

"Well, father," said she, "you got home!"

Nicholas helped himself to another half cup of tea, after holding the
teapot tentatively across to Mary's mug.

"Yes," he answered, in his dry and gentle fashion, "I've got home."

Hattie began rocking, in a rapid staccato, to punctuate her speech.

"Well," she began, "I'll say my say an' done with it. There's goin' to
be a town-meetin' to-night, an' Nicholas sent me over to mention it.
'Father'll want to be on hand,' says he."

Mr. Oldfield pushed back his cup, and then his chair. He bent his keen
blue eyes upon her.

"Town meetin' this time o' year?" said he. "What for?"

"Oh, it's about the celebration. Old Mr. Eaton"--

"What Eaton?"

"William W."

"He that went away in war time, an' made money in wool? Old War-Wool
Eaton?"

Nicholas nodded, at her assent, and his look blackened. He knew what was
coming.

"Well, he sent word he meant to give us a clock, same as he had other
towns, an' he wanted we should have it up before the celebration."

"Yes," said Nicholas Oldfield, "he'll give us a clock, will he? I knew
he would. I've said 'twas comin'. He give one to Saltash; he's gi'n 'em
all over the county. Do you know what them clocks be? They've got
letters round the dial, in place o' figgers; an' the letters spell out,
'In Memory of Me.' An' down to Saltash they've gi'n up sayi