ds must part!" she said. "I'm right sorry I can't take
ye any further. But down 'ere's a farm where I put up for the afternoon
an' 'elps 'em through with their butter-makin', for there's a lot o'
skeery gals in the fam'ly as thinks more o' doin' their 'air than
churnin', an' doin' the 'air don't bring no money in, though mebbe it
might catch a 'usband as wasn't worth 'avin'. An' Jim gets his food 'ere
too. Howsomever, I'm real put about that I can't drive ye a bit towards
Cleeve Abbey, for that's rare an' fine at this time o' year,--but mebbe
ye're wantin' to push on quickly?"

"Yes, I must push on," rejoined Helmsley, as he got out of the cart;
then, standing in the road, he raised his cap to her. "And I'm very
grateful to you for helping me along so far, at the hottest time of the
day too. It's most kind of you!"

"Oh, I don't want any thanks!" said Meg, smiling. "I'm rather sweet on
old men, seein' old age aint their fault even if trampin' the road is.
You'd best keep on the straight line now, till you come to Blue Anchor.
That's a nice little village, and you'll find an inn there where you can
get a night's lodging cheap. I wouldn't advise you to stay much round
Cleeve after sundown, for there's a big camp of gypsies about there, an'
they're a rough lot, pertikly a man they calls Tom o' the Gleam."

Helmsley smiled.

"I know Tom o' the Gleam," he said. "He's a friend of mine."

Meg Ross opened her round, bright brown eyes.

"Is he? Dear life, if I'd known that, I mightn't 'ave been so ready to
give you a ride with me!" she said, and laughed. "Not that I'm afraid of
Tom, though he's a queer customer. I've given a good many glasses of new
milk to his 'kiddie,' as he calls that little lad of his, so I expect
I'm fairly in his favour."

"I've never seen his 'kiddie,'" said Helmsley. "What is the boy like?"

"A real fine little chap!" said Meg, with heartiness and feeling. "I'm
not a crank on children, seein' most o' them's muckers an' trouble from
mornin' to night, but if it 'ad pleased the Lord as I should wed, I
shouldn't 'a wished for a better specimen of a babe than Tom's kiddie.
Pity the mother died!"

"When the child was born?" queried Helmsley gently.

"No--oh no!"--and Meg's eyes grew thoughtful. "She got through her
trouble all right, but 'twas about a year or eighteen months arterwards
that she took to pinin' like, an' droopin' down just like the poppies
droops in the corn when the sun's too fierce