the wide porch. This had been constructed
as an accommodation for wayfarers, as an invitation to take shade
and shelter in hot weather or Mustering storm; but it also served
what was uncontemplated, as an ear to the house. Whatever was
uttered there was audible within--a fact very generally forgotten
or unsuspected by such as occupied the porch. And, indeed, on the
present occasion, this fact was wholly unconsidered by the taverner
and his spouse, either because it escaped their minds that the
porch was endowed with this peculiarity, or else because the only
person then in the house was Mehetabel, and her hearing or not
hearing what was said was an indifferent matter.

Had there been customers present, drinking, the two would not have
been together when and where they were, nor would the topic of
conversation between them have been of a private nature.

The innkeeper had begun with a remark which all the world might
hear, and none would controvert, viz., that it was fine hay-making
weather, and that next day he purposed carrying the crop.

But Mrs. Verstage was indisposed to discuss a matter so obvious as
the weather, and so certain as that it would be utilized for
saving the hay. She plunged at once into that which lay near her
heart, and said, "Simon, you'll answer that there letter now?"

"Whose? Iver's?"

"Of course, Iver's letter. Now you yourself have heard from him,
and what does that mean but he wants all square between you. He
has got into a famous business. He sells his pictures and gives
lessons in drawing and painting at Guildford. It's but a matter of
time and he will be a great man."

"What! as a drawing master? I'd as lief he played the fiddle and
taught dancing."

"How can you say that, Simon?"

"Because it is what I feels. Here he had a good farm, a good inn,
and a good business--one that don't dwindle but is on the increase,
and the land bettering every day--and yet off he went, chucked
aside the blessin's of Providence, to take up wi' scribblin' and
scrawlin' on paper. If it weren't a thing altogether shameful it
would be clear ridic'lous."

Simon sucked in smoke enough to fill his lungs, and then blew it
forth leisurely in a long spiral.

"Odds' life," said he, "I don't see why I shu'd concern myself
about the hay, nor anythin' else. I've enough to live upon and to
enjye myself. What more do I want now?"

"What more?" inquired the landlady, with a sigh and a catch in
her voice--a sig