turning a disdainful shoulder, she tried to draw Jacka's
John-Willy into conversation--a difficult matter, since, though he had
been placed there instead of in the barn for Phoebe's benefit, he felt
the watchful eye of his mother, who was waiting at table, too frequently
upon him for his comfort.

Katie Jacka, her colour more set than it had been when she witnessed
that marriage eight years ago, was as emotional as ever, her facile
feelings only restrained at all by her husband's rigid taciturnity, even
as her high bosom was kept up by the stiffest of "temberan busks"--a
piece of wood which, like all self-respecting Cornishwomen, she wore
thrust inside the front of her stays. Philip Jacka, who was now headman
at the farm, presided at the labourer's supper in the big barn, whither
everyone would presently repair, including Ishmael, if he were not too
sleepy. The Parson divided his attention between him and Mr. Lenine, who
was expanding to greater and greater geniality, always with that
something veiled behind his eyes. He encouraged Ishmael, trying to draw
him out when the Parson, seeing the child was, in nursery parlance, "a
bit above himself," would have kept him quiet.

"Well, young maister"--at the phrase in the miller's booming voice ears
seemed visibly to prick down the length of the table--"well, and how do
'ee like helpen' to Cry the Neck?"

"Fine, that I do," came Ishmael's shrill tones; "an' I'm gwain to have
en cried every year, and I'll give ever so much bigger suppers, with
beef and pasties and beer as well as cider, and saffern cakes and--";
here his tongue failed at the list in his excitement.

Annie had gone a dull crimson, and she drew the whistling breath that
with her was the precursor of storm. Help for her outraged feelings and
a snub for the young master came from a quarter which surprised them
both.

"It is not you who give the supper, Ishmael," spoke the Parson quietly;
"it is your mother. And unless you show you know how to behave she will
never let you sit up again."

Annie expelled the breath unaccompanied by any flow of words. Archelaus
sniggered, and Ishmael sat in that terrible embarrassment that only
children know, when the whole world turns black and shame is so intense
that it seems impossible to keep on with life at all. His face was one
burning flush, his eyes stung with tears he was too proud to let fall.
All his wonderful day had fallen about his ears, and it seemed to him
tha