to
exchange the mahl-stick for an ox-goad, and mother wearies me with
laudation of Polly Colpus. I shall revolt and run away, as I did
not expect you to lend a hand with Polly."

"You must not run away," said Mehetabel, earnestly. "Iver! I was
all those years at the Ship, with mother, after you went, and I
have seen how her heart has ached for you. She is growing old.
Let her have consolation during the years that remain for the
sorrow of those that are past."

"I cannot take to farming, nor turn publican, and I will not
have Polly Colpus."

"Here is the spring," said Mehetabel.

She set the pitcher beside the water, leaned back in the hedge,
musing, with her finger to her chin, her eyes on the ground, and
her feet crossed.

"Stand as you are. That is perfect. Do not stir. I will make a
pencil sketch."

The spring gushed from under a bank, in a clear and copious jet.
It had washed away the sand, and had buried itself in a nook
among ferns and moss. On the top of the bank was a rude shed, open
at the side, with a cart at rest in it. Wild parsnips in full
flower nodded before the water.

"I could desire nothing better," said Iver, "and that pale blue
skirt of yours, the white stockings, the red kerchief round your
head--in color as in arrangement everything is admirable."

"You have not your paints with you."

"I will come another day and bring them. Now I will only sketch
in the outline."

Presently Iver laughed. "Matabel! If I took Polly she would be of
no use to me whatever, not even as a model."

Presently the Broom-Squire returned with Mrs. Verstage, and looked
over the shoulder of the artist.

"Not done much," he said.

"I shall have to come again and yet again, to put in the color,"
said Iver.

"Come when and as often as you like," said Bideabout. Neither of
the men noticed the shrinking that affected the entire frame of
Mehetabel, as Jonas said these words, but it was observed by Mrs.
Verstage, and a shade of anxiety swept over her face.

CHAPTER XVI.

AGAIN-IVER.

A few days after this first visit, Iver was again at the Kinks'
farm.

The weather was fine, and he protested that he must take advantage
of it to proceed with his picture.

Mehetabel was reluctant to stand. She made excuses that were at
once put aside.

"If you manage to sell pictures of our place," said Bideabout, "our
Punch-Bowl may get a name, and folk come here picnicking from
Godalming and Guildford and Por