“Why, you silly!  I mean to give her a dozen sewing-machines—­a baker’s dozen—­thirteen.  There!  Oh, I heard you as you came along.  It was all, ’Three sewing-machines will cost so much, and four sewing-machines will cost so much, and five sewing-machines will cost so much.  And a penny a week from so many subscribers will be so much, and twopence a week from so many will be so much;’ and all this as if my mother could tell you how much twice two was.  My arithmetic ain’t very brilliant, but as for hers—­And these you shall have, Miss Wenna—­one baker’s dozen of sewing-machines, as per order, duly delivered, carriage free—­empty casks and bottles to be returned.”

“That is very kind of you, Mr. Trelyon,” Wenna said—­and all the dreams had gone straight out of her head so soon as this was mentioned—­“but we can’t possibly accept them.  You know our scheme is to make the sewing club quite self-supporting—­no charity.”

“Oh, what stuff!” the young gentleman cried.  “You know you will give all your labor and supervision for nothing:  isn’t that charity?  And you know you will let off all sorts of people owing you subscriptions the moment some blessed baby falls ill.  And you know you won’t charge interest on all the outlay.  But if you insist on paying me back for my sewing-machines out of the overwhelming profits at the end of next year, then I’ll take the money.  I’m not proud.”

“Then we will take six sewing-machines from you, if you please, Mr. Trelyon, on those conditions,” said Wenna gravely.  And Master Harry—­with a look toward Mabyn which was just about as good as a wink—­consented.

As they drove quietly back again to Eglosilyan, Mabyn had taken her former place by the driver, and found him uncommonly thoughtful.  He answered her questions, but that was all; and it was so unusual to find Harry Trelyon in this mood that she said to him, “Mr. Trelyon, have you been seeing ghosts, too?”

He turned to her and said, “I was thinking about something.  Look here, Mabyn:  did you ever know any one, or do you know any one, whose face is a sort of barometer to you?  Suppose that you see her look pale and tired or sad in any way, then down go your spirits, and you almost wish you had never been born.  When you see her face brighten up and get full of healthy color, you feel glad enough to burst out singing or go mad:  anyhow, you know that everything’s all right.  What the weather is, what people may say about you, whatever else may happen to you, that’s nothing:  all you want to see is just that one person’s face look perfectly bright and perfectly happy, and nothing can touch you then.  Did you ever know anybody like that?” he added rather abruptly.

“Oh yes,” said Mabyn, in a low voice:  “that is when you are in love with some one.  And there is only one face in all the world that I look to for all these things, there is only one person I know who tells you openly and simply in her face all that affects her, and that is our Wenna.  I suppose you have noticed that, Mr. Trelyon?”