“No, that is bad; but boys get over their quarrels in time.  However, I must go.  If I can be of any use to Tom, you know that I am at your service.”

“When were you not at everybody’s service?” said the doctor, and they went out through the hall.

“Good-bye,” said Penhallow, but the doctor stopped him.

“Penhallow, may I take the liberty to bother you with a bit of unasked advice?”

“A liberty, nonsense!  What is it?”

“Well, then—­let that drunken brute Peter alone.  You said that you would not let the carpenter use him, but why not?  Then you hoped he would get work.  Let him alone.”

“McGregor, I have a great charity for a drunkard’s son—­and the rest you know.”

“Yes, too well.”

“I try to put myself in his place—­with his inheritance—­”

“You can’t.  Nothing is more kind than that in some cases, and nothing more foolish in others or in this—­”

“Perhaps.  I will think it over, Doctor.  Good-bye.”

Meanwhile Grace lay in bed thoughtfully considering the situation.  While her husband seemed practically inactive in politics, Mrs. Penhallow had been busy, and she had clearly hinted that the roofing of the chapel might depend on how Grace used his large influence in the electoral contest, but had said nothing very definite.  He was well aware, however, that in his need for help he had bowed a little in the House of Rimmon.  Then he had talked with Rivers and straightened up, and now did the Squire’s offer imply any pledge on his own part?  While he tried to solve this problem, Penhallow reappeared.

“I forgot something, Grace,” he said.  “Mrs. Penhallow will send Mrs. Lamb here for a few days, and some—­oh, some little luxuries—­ice and fresh milk.”

The Baptist did not like it.  Was this to keep him in the way he had resolved not to go.  “Thank you and her,” he returned, and then added abruptly, “How are you meaning to vote, Squire?”

“Oh, for Fremont,” replied Penhallow, rather puzzled.

“Well, that will be good news in Westways.”  It was to him, too, and he felt himself free.  “Isn’t Mrs. Penhallow rather on the other side?”

He had no least idea that the question might be regarded as impertinent.  Penhallow said coldly, “My wife and I are rather averse to talking politics.  I came back to say that I want you to feel free to make use of my library—­just as Rivers does.”

“Now that will be good.  I am book-starved except for Rivers’s help.  Thank you.”  He put out a fat hand and said, “God has been good to me this day; may He be as kind to you and yours.”

The Squire went his way wondering what the deuce the man had to do with Ann Penhallow’s politics.

Mrs. Lamb took charge of Grace, and Mrs. Penhallow saw that he was well supplied and gave no further thought to the incorrigible and changeful political views of Westways.

The excitement over the flight of Josiah lessened, and Westways settled down to the ordinary dull routine of a little community dependent on small farmers and the mill-men who boarded at the old tavern or with some of the townspeople.