* * * * *

The uneasy sense of something lost was more felt than mentioned that fall at Grey Pine, where quick feet on the stair and the sound of young laughter were no longer heard.  Rivers saw too how distinctly the village folk missed these gay young people.  Mrs. Crocker, of the shop where everything was to be bought, bewailed herself to Rivers, who was the receiver of all manner of woes.  “Mrs. Penhallow is getting to be so particular no one knows where to find her.  You would never think it, sir, but she says my tea is not fit to drink, and she is going to get her sugar from Philadelphia.  It’s awful!  She says it isn’t as sweet as it used to be—­as if sugar wasn’t always the same—­”

“Which it isn’t,” laughed Rivers.

“And my tea!—­Then here comes in the Squire to get a dog-collar, and roars to my poor deaf Job, ’that last tea was the best we have ever had.  Send five pounds to Dr. McGregor from me—­charge it to me—­and a pound to Mrs. Lamb.’  It wasn’t but ten minutes later.  Do set down, Mr. Rivers.”  He accepted the chair she dusted with her apron and quietly enjoyed the little drama.  The facts were plain, the small influential motives as clear.

Secure of her hearer, Mrs. Crocker went on:  “I was saying it wasn’t ten minutes later that same morning Mrs. Penhallow came down on me about the sugar and the tea—­worst she ever had.  She—­oh, Lord!—­She wouldn’t listen, and declared that she would return the tea and get sugar from town.”

“Pretty bad that,” said Rivers, sympathetic.  “Did she send back the tea?”

“No, sir.  In came Pole grinning that very evening.  He said she had made an awful row about the last leg of mutton he sent.  Pole said she was that bad—­She didn’t show no temper, but she kept on a sort of quiet mad about the mutton.”

“Well, what did Pole do?”

“You’d never guess.  It was one of the Squire’s own sheep.  Pole he just sent her the other leg of the same sheep!”

Again the rector laughed.  “Well, and what did Mrs. Penhallow do?”

“She told him that was all right.  Pole he guessed I’d better send her a pound of the same tea.”

“Did you?”

“I did—­ain’t heard yet.  Now what would you advise?  Never saw her this way before.”

“Well,” said Rivers, “tell her how the town misses Leila and John.”

“They do.  I do wonder if it’s just missing those children upsets her so.”

Whether his advice were taken or not, Rivers did not learn directly, but Mrs. Crocker said things were better when next they met, and the clergyman asked no questions.

Penhallow had his own distracting troubles.  The financial condition which became serious in the spring and summer of 1857 was beginning to cause him alarm, and soon after the new year came in he felt obliged to talk over his affairs and to advise his wife to loan the mill company money not elsewhere to be had except at ruinous interest.  She wished simply to give him the sum needed, but he said no, and made clear to her why he required help.  She was pleased to be consulted, and showing, as usual, notable comprehension of the business situation, at once did as he desired.