During the time left to them there was much to do in the way of visits to the older village people and some of the farmer families who had been here on the soil nearly as long as the Penhallows.  There were no other neighbours near enough for country intercourse, and the life at Grey Pine offered few attractions to friends or relatives from the cities unless they liked to tramp with the Squire in search of game.  The life was, therefore, lonely and would for some women have been unendurable; but as the Baptist preacher said to Rivers, “Duties are enough to satisfy Mrs. Penhallow, and I do guess she enjoys her own goodness like the angels must do.”

Mark Rivers answered, “That is pretty nearly true, but I wish she would not invent duties which don’t belong to women.”

“About the election, you mean?”

“Yes.  It troubles me, and I am sure it troubles the Squire.  What about yourself, Grace?” and a singularly sad smile went with the query and a side glance at his friend’s face.  He had been uneasy about him since Grace had bent a little in the House of Rimmon.

“Oh, Rivers, the roof has got to leak.  I have kept away from Mrs. Penhallow.  I can’t accept her help and then preach against her party, and—­I mean to do it.  I’ve wrestled with this little sin and—­I don’t say I wasn’t tempted—­I was.  Now I am clear.  We Baptists can stand what water leaks down on us from Heaven.”

“You mean to preach politics, Grace?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean to do.  Oh! here comes Mrs. Penhallow.”

They had met in front of Josiah’s shop.  As Mrs. Penhallow approached, Mr. Grace discovering a suddenly remembered engagement hurried away, and Rivers went with her along the rough sidewalk of Westways.

“I go away to-morrow with Leila,” she said, “and Mr. Penhallow goes to Pittsburgh.  We shall leave John to you for at least a week.  He will give you no trouble.  He has quite lost his foreign boyish ways, and don’t you think he is like my husband?”

“He is in some ways very like the Squire.”

“Yes, in some things—­I so rarely leave home that this journey to Baltimore with Leila seems to me like foreign travel.”

“Does Leila like it?”

“No, but it is time she was thrown among girls.  She is less than she was a mere wild boy.  It is strange, Mark, that ever since John came she has been less of a hoyden—­and more of a simple girl.”

“It is,” he said, “a fine young nature in a strong body.  She has the promise of beauty—­whatever that may be worth.”

“Worth!  It is worth a great deal,” said Mrs. Ann.  “It helps.  The moral value of beauty!  Ah, Mark Rivers, I should like to discuss that with you.  She is at the ugly duck age.  Now I must go home.  I want you to look after some things while I am away, and Mr. Penhallow is troubled about his pet scamp, Lamb.”

She went on with her details of what he was to do, until he said laughing, “Please to put it on paper.”