And now in the desolate garden, there was visible evidence of more kindness.  Perhaps the world was not wholly a place of grief and tears.  Out there among the weeds a man laboured cheerfully—­a man of whom she had no knowledge and upon whom she had no claim.

He sang and whistled as he strove mightily with the weeds.  Now and then, he sharpened his scythe with his whetstone and attacked the dense undergrowth with yet more vigour.  The little yellow mongrel capered joyfully and unceasingly, affecting to hide amidst the mass of rubbish, scrambling out with sharp, eager barks when his master playfully buried him, and retreating hastily before the oncoming scythe.

Miss Evelina could not hear, but she knew that the man was talking to the dog in the pauses of his whistling.  She knew also that the dog liked it, even if he did not understand.  She observed that the dog was not beautiful—­could not be called so by any stretch of the imagination—­and yet the man talked to him, made a friend of him, loved him.

At noon, the Piper laid down his scythe, clambered up on the crumbling stone wall, and ate his bread and cheese, while the dog nibbled at his bone.  From behind a shutter in an upper room, Miss Evelina noted that the dog also had bread and cheese, sharing equally with his master.

The Piper went to the well, near the kitchen door, and drank copiously of the cool, clear water from his silver cup.  Then he went back to work again.

Out in the road, the rubbish accumulated.  When the Piper stood behind it.  Miss Evelina could barely see the tip of the red feather that bobbed rakishly in his hat.  Once he disappeared, leaving the dog to keep a reluctant guard over the spade and scythe.  When he came back, he had a rake and a large basket, which made the collection of rubbish easier.

Safe in her house, Miss Evelina watched him idly.  Her thought was taken from herself for the first time in all the five-and-twenty years.  She contemplated anew the willing service of Miss Mehitable, who asked nothing of her except the privilege of leaving daily sustenance at her barred and forbidding door.  “Truly,” said Miss Evelina to herself, “it is a strange world.”

The personality of the Piper affected her in a way she could not analyse.  He did not attract her, neither was he wholly repellent.  She did not feel friendly toward him, yet she could not turn wholly aside.  There had been something strangely alluring in his music, which haunted her even now, though she resented his making game of her and leading her through the woods as he had.

Over and above and beyond all, she remembered the encounter upon the road, always with a keen, remorseless pain which cut at her heart like a knife.  Miss Evelina thought she was familiar with knives, but this one hurt in a new way and cut, seemingly, at a place which had not been touched before.