“But Mr. Bates is very rich, isn’t he?”

“He ought to be, but he isn’t.  That son of his has bin eating him up, slow an’ fast, for th’ last ten years.  The turnover of his trade is big enough, but the whole management of it has gone end-ways.  From a man working with capital he’s come down to a man financing things from hand to mouth.  What’s left to him now is strictly speaking his stock, his wagons, his horses, his lease, his household belongings—­and whatever should be put down for the good-will.”

Then, continuing his purely businesslike exposition, he explained that he would have to make two engagements, one to his wife and one to Mr. Bates.  All material property would be charged with Mavis’ loan, and the value of the good-will would be repaid how and when he could repay it.  Mr. Bates was content to risk that part of the bargain on his faith in Dale’s personal integrity.

“Don’t say any more,” cried Mavis.  “I’m not understanding it, but I know it’s all right.  Do let’s get it settled before Mr. Bates alters his mind.”

“It must be done formally, Mavis, through your lawyers.  Mr. Cleaver is capable and trustworthy.  It’s to be a regular mortgage, properly tied up; and he must approve—­”

“I don’t care whether he approves or doesn’t.  I approve.”

“Then I thank you,” said Dale, gravely, “for the way you’ve met me, and I assure you I appreciate it.  As to the trade itself, I b’lieve I shan’t go wrong.  It’s not so new to me as people might suppose.  I’m well aware of its principles; and, moreover, one trade’s precious like another—­and a man’s faculties are bound to tell, no matter how you apply them.”

Mavis was overjoyed.  When she sang to herself now while dressing of a morning the notes poured out loud and full, even when there was scarce a puff of breath behind them.  She felt so proud and happy to think that fate had given her the power to help William, and that he had consented to avail himself of the power.  Once more he had begun to lean on her.  As in the past, so in the future, he would derive support from his poor little misunderstood, but always well-meaning Mavis.

XII

By the end of September everything was arranged.  Dale had ceased to be postmaster of Rodchurch; the purchase of the business had been completed; and Mr. Bates had moved out of Vine-Pits to a cottage near Otterford Mill, leaving behind him the bulk of his furniture as the property of the incomers.  Thus the Dales would have no difficulty in furnishing the comparatively large house that henceforth was to be their home.

For the last two days they had been living chaotically in rooms stripped to a woeful bareness; this morning Mary had gone along the Hadleigh Road with a wagon full of bedsteads, bedding, and household utensils; and now, late in the afternoon, the wagon stood at the post office door again, packed this time with a final load consisting of those treasures which had been held back for transit under their owners’ charge.