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"One of these days, daughter, you'll come in quietly," Nathaniel half-grumbled at her.

"This gentleman has had a slight accident." Then looking down on the man, he said, "This is my daughter, Mr.... ?"

"Oh. How do you do?" The inclination of his head was towards Cherry;

but then he turned and looked at Nathaniel, saying, "My name is Barrington, Timothy Barrington."

And to this Nathaniel answered, "And ours is Marten." He glanced towards Maria as if he were saying. Well, it will be in a few days'

time.

When there came a knock on the door Anna, being nearest to it, opened it and standing there she made out the figure of the man who, earlier in the day, she had laughed with and who, for no reason she could understand, had made her want to cry.

"I understand ... ? " Oh, do come in. "

He stepped into the lamplit room, then turned and stared at her, shaking his head, and she had the feeling he was about to remark on this being their second meeting in one day; but then, becoming aware of others standing round the fire at the far end of the room, he apologised: "I am sorry for the inconvenience," he said.

"There has been no inconvenience to us, sir." Nathaniel was coming towards him.

"Will you come in, please?"

Simon Brodrick followed Nathaniel up the room towards the fire; then stood as if in amazement, looking down onto the mat to where Mr.

Barrington was sitting, and said with some concern, "Oh! Tim."

And Mr. Barrington answered, "Oh, Simon; now don't you start. I just had to get out else I would have exploded.

"

"Well, you did explode, didn't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I suppose I did, but I was going on the fact that it hadn't happened for ... oh, weeks and weeks. Well... His voice trailed away.

Simon now dropped onto his hunkers and the two men looked at each other, and for the moment it was as if they were alone, such was the way they spoke, for Simon said, "If you wanted to ride so badly why couldn't you have told me? I would have come with you."

"Yes, I knew you would, but, my dear fellow, I'm sick of people; I'm sick of close proximity, even of you." He now lifted a hand and pushed at Simon, and as Simon got to his feet he looked at Maria, and began,

"I'm sorry we've had to inconvenience ... only to be interrupted by Timothy Barrington saying " I'm not, Simon. No, I'm not sorry this has happened, because these dear people have been so kind to me and they have let me sit on the rug by the fire. How long is it since you sat on a rug by a fire, Simon? "

Simon looked down on him and said, "As usual, you are well enough to talk and prompt an argument, but are you well enough to get on to your feet?"

"Yes. Yes. Give me your hand."

Between them Nathaniel and Simon drew him to his feet, then sat him in the wooden chair. Once seated, he looked about him, taking in first Maria, then Nathaniel, then the small boy who was standing by his side, then the two girls who were standing together, one very dark and one very fair, and both beautiful. Then he sighed and, turning his head towards Simon, he asked, "What did you bring?" And when Simon answered, "The coach," of a sudden he put his fingers to his mouth and felt the gap in his teeth, saying in some surprise now, "I must have lost the two of them when I fell." And now he started to laugh but stopped abruptly and, his eyes blinking, he looked at Nathaniel as he said, "You must think it's a very queer fellow who is partaking of your hospitality. Perhaps on our further acquaintance I can prove to you that I am just odd and not all that queer."

This brought a laugh from Nathaniel and he answered, "Odd or queer, sir, it would be my pleasure; in fact, the pleasure of all of us, were you to partake of our hospitality whenever you feel so inclined."

"Splendidly put. Don't you think so?" He turned his head and looked at Simon, and Simon answered, "You wouldn't expect it otherwise from a learned man. Mr. Marten is a teacher, a tutor."

"Is that so? Well, sir, I shall certainly take you up on your invitation. But now I really must go, for indeed I have outstayed my welcome."

When, with the support of Simon, he stood up and walked towards the door, Anna noticed he didn't look as tall or as big-built as when he was lying down. His height would be about five-foot seven and, although he was thick-set, his figure was in no way bulky.

At the door he turned and said a single, "Goodbye," which included them all. But Simon Brodrick

said nothing until, with the help of the coachman, he had placed his errant relative in the coach and had then hurried back to the door of the house, where Maria and Nathaniel were standing with the girls behind them, and here, looking first at Maria and then at Nathaniel, he said, "I'm indebted to you. But about the horse?"

"Oh, yes, the horse." Nathaniel turned to Anna:

"You've put him in the stable?" he asked.

"Yes. He'll be all right there until morning."

"Thank you. I'll send for him first thing."

"He'll have to go to the blacksmith; he sprang a shoe."

"Likely that was the reason for ... for the trouble. Thank you again.

Goodnight. "

They all answered, "Good-night'; then they watched the driver turn the coach and make for the field gate that led on to a rough path on the edge of the open land and connected with the coach road.

When the door was closed, Nathaniel looked from one to the other and said, "What a day! My two daughters have been sacked from their posts, I have been assailed and told that I might end up in the House of Correction, and now one of the scions of the aristocracy has an epileptic fit and ends up on our mat' he indicated the mat with a sweep of his hand' and further, another scion drives his coach to our door and we are thanked most graciously for our services. Do you realise.

Miss Maria Dagshaw, that this day could be a turning point in our lives?"

And Maria, taking up his tone, said, "I do indeed, Mr. Marten. I do indeed. So much so that no-one

must sit on that end of the mat; I'm going to cut it off and hang it on the wall. "

"Oh, I'd leave it there until the boys get in," said Nathaniel; and Anna joined in the general laughter, even though she was thinking: Turning point in their lives? Her dada could be naive at times; nothing could alter what they already were, what he himself had made them; not even their forthcoming marriage would or could erase the stain. And whatever condescending patronage they might receive from the Manor wasn't going to help either. Oh no. Nevertheless, she was experiencing the same feeling as she had done when, withdrawing her hand from Mr. Simon Brodrick's, she had then turned from him and walked along the quarry path.

The news seemed to set the village on fire: those two from the Hollow had the nerve to go and get married after breeding that lot. And what d'you think? Miss Netherton was there, at the church, so it was said, and also at the do they had when the lot of them returned home. And that wasn't all. Oh, no. It was unbelievable but true, flowers and fruit had been sent from the Manor. To that lot of scum! And why?

That's the question, why? Oh, there was something behind this, and you needn't go very far to see the reason for it. Tommy Taylor could tell you; he saw them with his own eyes. He was picking up the letters for the second delivery when he saw Mr. Simon Brodrick with that young piece. She came into the post office as bold as brass and waited for him, and then he handed her up into the gig. He saw it. And what was more, he saw Mr. Harry Watson chatting to Mr. Simon while she sat perched up there. Now, if you asked him, there was the reason for the flowers sent to the Hollow. But the nerve of that young hussy. Like mother, like daughter.

Some said they were surprised that it was Mr. Simon she had caught, and him married with a three-year-old son. Now had it been Mr.

Raymond, they could have understood it. Yet, who could understand any decent man going within spitting distance of one of that litter. And that particular one was supposed to have been in the position of a teacher in Fellburn. Well, that surely was another cover-up, 'cos who would take her on? They would like to bet that young gillyvor had a house there, and what she taught wasn't the a. b. c.

This was the talk in the village before the end of the year 1880, but by the beginning of March, 1881, the villagers were dumbfounded by the news that that one was being taken on at the Manor to instruct the young son in his letters and such. And not only that, Mr. Timothy, the one that had fits, had been seen walking across the moor with her.

What next! What next! But to think the hussy had the nerve to push herself into the house, and under her mistress's very nose. But there was one thing sure, she wouldn't reign long there, not under the young Mrs. Brodrick, she wouldn't. If she got wind of this, she would skin that one alive, for didn't she have a temper like a fiend? Well, there was going to be sparks flying. Just you wait.

But here and there in the village, there were those as well as a farmer or two round about, who dared to voice their doubts about this general opinion of the young gillyvor. Nobody had seen her out riding with Simon Brodrick since that day Tommy Taylor saw her. As for her walking with Mr. Timothy, well, there was some talk of her finding him in the field, when he had a turn on him, and he had been taken into their house.

That couldn't be true, they were told; it was well known Timothy hardly moved out of the grounds.

Yes, that was true. But why keep on about them down in the Hollow; the couple were married now;

they'd had the ceremony performed as soon as it had become possible.

Yes, they knew that, but it didn't make any difference; the hairns were still bastards.

But, said the moderate ones, you couldn't get over the fact that they were all well spoken and in decent jobs and they kept themselves to themselves.

As Miss Netherton said, after listening to Ethel, who related the gossip she had drawn out of Rosie Boyle, who came in from the village daily and acted as a housemaid, it could be that there were now two camps of thought in the village, and it wasn't before time. But she'd be sorry if the day ever came when all the inhabitants turned into kindly sensible people, to include the parson and, of course, his wife, because then she would realise they had all died, including herself.

"Must you go to this house, Anna?"

"It isn't that I must go, Ben; I want to go. I want to teach and it's an amazing opportunity that's been offered to me, practically on the doorstep, you could say. What is wrong, Ben?"

The boy took her hand as they walked across the frost-spangled ground towards the wood, and in an affectionate gesture he leant his head against her arm for a moment as he said, "I shall miss you."

She stopped and looked down at him.

"But it will be the same as when I was at the Academy, even better. I don't have to be at the Manor until nine and I leave again at four, and the journey will be over in a flash, because they are being kind enough to take me back and forth in the gig. You'll see much more of me than you did last year."

His eyes were showing a sad expression, more so than usual. Suddenly, she stooped down to him and, taking his face between her hands, she said, "What is it that's troubling you, Ben?"

"I don't know. It's just that I don't want you to go. I feel sad at your going."

"Did you not feel sad last year when I went to the Academy?"

"No. No, I never felt sad then."

"Oh, Ben." She pulled him suddenly into her arms, and he pressed his head against her waist and they hugged each other; then she took his hand again and they walked in silence for some way, until she said, The others were happy for me when they left. Oswald and Olan, didn't they make you laugh when they dipped their knee to me? And Cherry, look how she acted the goat and said how she was going to cock a snook at Mr.

Praggett. And Ma and Dada and Jimmy are so glad for me. There's only you, and now you make me sad because you're so very dear to me, and you are not wishing me happiness in my new position. "

"Oh, I am, I am, Anna. I wish you to be happy. All the time I wish you to be happy, all the time I wish you to be happy."

"All right, all right. Then don't get depressed; but what is it? "

"I don't know, Anna, just a sadness inside me."

"Oh, Ben." She looked down on him, troubled: Ben to say he was sad. He was the happy one, yet there was something in this small brother of hers to which she couldn't put a name. Was he fey? No, no; there was nothing pixyish about Ben. He was a boy, a highly intelligent boy. He had the power to learn so quickly. At times he surprised her, for he seemed to know the answer before half the question was put to him.

As she looked towards the wood, she could hear the sound of the axe coming from the far end. Her father was at the wood block and she must have a word with him before she went; she must say something to him that she couldn't say in front of her mother, in case it should worry her. So now, looking down on Ben, she said, "I want a word with Dada.

Look; go over to the gate and as soon as you sight the gig, come back here and whistle. Will you do that?"

"Yes, Anna; yes." He ran from her and she now hurried through the wood. And Nathaniel, stopping his work at her approach, called, "You're ready, then

"Yes, I'm ready, Dada. And it looks as if you've kept out of my way."

"Perhaps you're right, dear, perhaps you're right. But now you're all ready and set to go?"

"Not quite, Dada; I want to say something."

"Well, say it, my dear, say it."

"I'm frightened."

"Frightened? What about?"

"I don't really know. I'm like Ben. I asked him why he didn't want me to go to the Manor, and that's what he said: he didn't know."

"If you feel like that, my dear, you shouldn't go. But who are you frightened of, or what are you afraid of? Not the teaching?"

"Oh, no, not the teaching, Dada. You know that. And it isn't so much that I'm frightened, it's that I have taken a strong dislike to someone."