their wonted cheerful submission.

It was a fine October afternoon, when Redcross was looking its best. It
was rather a dull town, with little trade and few manufactories, but its
worst enemy could not deny it the corresponding virtues of cleanliness
and freedom from smoke. Here and there there was a grand old tree wedged
between the houses. In one or two instances, where the under part of the
house was brick, and the upper--an afterthought--was a projecting storey
of wood, the latter was built round the tree, with its branches
sheltering the roof in a picturesque, half foreign fashion. Here and
there were massive old houses and shops, with some approach to the size
and the substantial--even costly--fittings of "Robinson's." A side
street led down to a little sluggish canal which joined the Dewes, a
river of considerable size on which Redcross had originally been built.
This canal was crossed by a short solid stone bridge, bearing a quaint
enough bridge-house, still used as a dwelling-place.

The sun was bright and warm without any oppressive heat. The leaves,
where leaves were to be seen, had yellow, russet, and red streaks and
stains, suggestive of brown nuts and scarlet berries in the hedges.

The flowers in the many window-boxes in which Redcross indulged were
still, for the most part, gay with the deeper tints of autumn, the
purple of asters and the orange of chrysanthemums setting off the
geraniums blossoming on till the frost shrivelled them, and the seeded
green and straw-coloured spikes of the still fragrant mignonette.

It was market-day, which gave but a slight agreeable stir to the drowsy
town. The ruddy faces and burly figures of farmers, whose imposing bulk
somehow did not decrease in keeping with the attenuated profits of
long-continued agricultural depression, were prominent on the pavement.
Little market carts, which closely shawled and bonneted elderly women,
laden with their market baskets, still found themselves disengaged
enough to drive, rattled over the cobble stones. An occasional farm
labourer in a well-nigh exploded smock frock, who had come in with a
bullock or two, or a small flock of sheep, to the slaughter-house,
trudging home with a straw between his teeth, and his faithful collie at
his heels, made a variety in the town population.

The latter consisted, at this hour, of shop boys and girls, boys from
the grammar school, a file of boarders from Miss Burridge's, who walked
as if "eye