d time to form the dry and solid substance, without which
neither man nor his staff of life can stand against adversity.

"My Lady Philippa," as the tenants called her, came out one day to see
how things looked, and whether the tenants were likely to pay their
Michaelmas rents at Christmas. Her sister, Mrs. Carnaby, felt like
interest in the question, but hated long walks, being weaker and less
active, and therefore rode a quiet pony. Very little wheat was grown on
their estates, both soil and climate declining it; but the barley crop
was of more importance, and flourished pretty well upon the southern
slopes. The land, as a rule, was poor and shallow, and nourished more
grouse than partridges; but here and there valleys of soft shelter and
fair soil relieved the eye and comforted the pocket of the owner. These
little bits of Goshen formed the heart of every farm; though oftentimes
the homestead was, as if by some perversity, set up in bleak and barren
spots, outside of comfort's elbow.

The ladies marched on, without much heed of any other point than
one--would the barley crop do well? They had many tenants who trusted
chiefly to that, and to the rough hill oats, and wool, to make up in
coin what part of their rent they were not allowed to pay in kind.
For as yet machinery and reeking factories had not besmirched the
country-side.

"How much further do you mean to go, Philippa?" asked Mrs. Carnaby,
although she was not travelling by virtue of her own legs. "For my part,
I think we have gone too far already."

"Your ambition is always to turn back. You may turn back now if you
like. I shall go on." Miss Yordas knew that her sister would fail of the
courage to ride home all alone.

Mrs. Carnaby never would ride without Jordas or some other serving-man
behind her, as was right and usual for a lady of her position; but "Lady
Philippa" was of bolder strain, and cared for nobody's thoughts, words,
or deeds. And she had ordered her sister's servant back for certain
reasons of her own.

"Very well, very well. You always will go on, and always on the road you
choose yourself. Although it requires a vast deal of knowledge to know
that there is any road here at all."

The widow, who looked very comely for her age, and sat her pony
prettily, gave way (as usual) to the stronger will; though she always
liked to enter protest, which the elder scarcely ever deigned to notice.
But hearing that Eliza had a little cough at night,