old him the whole flock was dead he wouldn't care. Master is
queerish this morning.'

'He is not well,' Bryda said. 'Don't trouble him, Silas, if you can
help, and let me have Flick.'

Flick was only waiting the word of command from his master, with anxious
upturned nose and eyes scanning Silas's rugged face.

'Get along with you,' was the not very gracious dismissal.

And the old dog leaped for joy, gave his low, deep-mouthed bay, scuttled
round the yard twice, sending two sedate cats clambering up the old
wall, with its high lichen-covered coping, where they turned at bay,
with swelled tails and arched backs, to spit at their enemy.

So bright was the sky, and so full of life was everything around her,
that as Bryda tripped lightly on her way she had almost forgotten what
was her errand.

The church clock of Dundry struck ten as she passed. The village was
quiet, almost deserted.

The people were out at their daily toil on the hills, and only a few
white-headed children were making dust pies by the churchyard gate, two
or three women, with babies in their arms, gossiping at their cottage
doors.

'Where's she off to, I wonder? That's Peter Palmer's girl, she is mighty
proud, and never passes good-morning or the time of day, not she.'

'Pride must have a fall,' said another. 'Look at her in her fine red
gown as if 'twere a Fair day.'

And then the women hushed their squalling babies with somewhat rough
vehemence and turned to other subjects.

Bryda was a little doubtful of the nearest road to Rock House when she
came to the place where four roads met.

The old sign-post had lost one of its arms, and the lettering on another
was defaced. Bryda knew Rock House was several miles nearer Dundry than
the town of Binegar, but she could not feel sure which of the four roads
that looked so much alike was the right one.

As she stood hesitating, a young man, with a gun under his arm, leaped
over the hedge into the road.

Flick growled as he approached, and Bryda, putting her hand through his
collar, said,--

'Down, Flick.'

Then, addressing the young man, she said,--

'Please, sir, can you tell me the way to Rock House, Squire Bayfield's?'
Then she added demurely, 'I have business with him.'

'Well,' was the reply, 'the Squire is a lucky man, that's all I have to
say.'

Bryda's colour rose, for this young man's gaze was a little too openly
admiring.

She curtsied, with a grace which was very different f