John, however, did not trouble himself about these things.  He was hard at work harvesting for Muster Hill’s widow, and puzzling his head day and night as to what to do with his box.

When the last field had been carried and the harvest supper was over, he came home late, and wearied out.  His working life at Clinton Magna was done; and the family he had worked for so long was broken up in distress and poverty.  Yet he felt only a secret exultation.  Such toil and effort behind—­such a dreamland in front!

Next day he set to work to wind up his affairs.  The furniture of the cottage was left to Eliza’s son Jim, and the daughter had arranged for the carting of it to the house twelve miles off where her parents lived.  She was to go with it on the morrow, and John would give up the cottage and walk over to Frampton, where he had already secured a lodging.

Only twenty-four hours!—­and he had not yet decided.  Which was it to be —­Saunders after all—­or the savings-bank—­or Bessie?

He was cording up his various possessions—­a medley lot—­indifferent parcels and bundles, when Bessie Costrell knocked at the door.  She had already offered to stow away anything he might like to leave with her.

‘Well, I thought you’d be busy,’ she said as she walked in, ’an I came up to lend a hand.  Is them the things you’re goin to leave me to take care on?’

John nodded.

’Field’s cart, as takes Louisa’s things to-morrer, is a-goin to deliver these at your place first.  They’re more nor I thought they would be.  But you can put ’em anywheres.’

’Oh, I’ll see to ’em.’

She sat down and watched him tie the knots of the last parcel.

‘There’s some people as is real ill-natured,’ she said presently, in an angry voice.

‘Aye?’ said John, looking up sharply.  ‘What are they sayin now?’

’It’s Muster Saunders.  ’Ee’s allus sayin nassty things about other folks.  And there’d be plenty of fault to be found with ’im, if onybody was to try.  An Sally Saunders eggs him on dreadful.’

Saunders was the village smith, a tall, brawny man, of great size and corresponding wisdom, who had been the village arbiter and general councillor for a generation.  There was not a will made in Clinton Magna that he did not advise upon; not a bit of contentious business that he had not a share in; not a family history that he did not know.  His probity was undisputed; his ability was regarded with awe; but as he had a sharp tongue and was no respecter of persons, there was of course an opposition.

John took a seat on the wooden box he had just been cording, and mopped his brow.  His full cheeks were crimson, partly with exertion, partly with sudden annoyance.

’What’s ’ee been sayin now?  Though it doan’t matter a brass farthin to me what ‘ee says.’

’He says you ’aven’t got no proper feelins about poor Eliza, and you’d ought to have done a great deal more for Louisa.  But ’ee says you allus were a mean one with your money—­an you knew that ’ee knew it—­for ’ee ’d stopped you takin an unfair advantage more nor once.  An ’ee didn’t believe as your money would come to any good; for now Eliza was gone you wouldn’t know how to take care on it.’