hat's better, isn't
it? Aren't you going to smoke?'

'Ay!'

In reaching a second spill from the spill-jar on the mantelpiece she
noticed the clock. It was only a quarter past five. 'He may call yet,'
she dreamed, and then a more piquant thought: 'He may be at home when I
get back.'

There was a perfunctory knock at the house-door. She started.

'It's the "Signal" lad,' Meshach explained. 'He keeps on bringing it,
but I never look at it.'

She went into the lobby for the paper, and then read aloud to Uncle
Meshach the items of local news. The clock showed a quarter to six.
Suddenly it struck her that Arthur Twemlow might have called quite early
in the afternoon and that Meshach might have forgotten to tell her. If
he had perchance called, and perchance informed Meshach that he was
going on to Hillport, and if he had walked up by the road while she came
down by the fields! The idea was too dreadful.

'Has Mr. Twemlow been to see you yet?' she demanded, after a long
silence, pretending to be interested in the 'Signal.'

'No,' said Meshach; 'why dost ask?'

'I remembered he said he should.'

'He'll come, he'll come,' Meshach murmured confidently. 'Dain's been
in,' he added, 'wi' papers to sign, probate o' Hannah's will. Seemingly
John's not satisfied, from what Dain hints.'

'Not satisfied with what?' Flushing a little, she dropped the paper; but
she was still busily employed in expecting Arthur to arrive.

'Eh, I canna' tell you, lass.' Meshach gave a grim sigh. 'You know as I
altered my will?'

'Jack mentioned it.'

'Me and her, we thought it over. It was her as first said that Fred was
getting a nice young chap, and very respectable, and why should he be
left out in the cold? And so I says to her, I says, "Well, you can make
your will i' favour o' Fred, if you've a mind." "Nay, Meshach," her
says, "never ask me to cut out our John's name." "Well," I says to her,
"if you won't, I will. It'll give 'em both an even chance. Us'n die
pretty near together, me and you, Hannah, it'll be a toss-up," I says.
Wasn't that fair?' Leonora made no reply. 'Wasn't that fair?' he
repeated.

She could not be sure, even then, whether Uncle Meshach had devised in
perfect seriousness this extraordinary arrangement for dealing justly
between the surviving members of the Myatt family, or whether he had
always had a private humorous appreciation of the fantastic element in
it.

'I don't know,' she said.

'Well, lass,' he c