Abel looked anxiously at Mrs. Gresley.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “as perhaps the little lady wasn’t quite right in her ’ead.  They do say as too much learning flies to the ’ead, the same as spirits to them as ain’t manured to ’em.  And the little lady does work desperate hard.”

“Not as hard as Mr. Gresley,” said Mrs. Gresley.

“Maybe not, mem, maybe not.  But when I come up when red cow was sick at four in the morning, or maybe earlier, there was always a light in her winder, and the shadder of her face agin the blind.  Yes, she do work precious hard.”

Mrs. Gresley retreated into the house, picking her way over the debris of the porch.  At any other time its demise would have occupied the minds of the Vicarage household for days.  But, until this moment, it had hardly claimed the tribute of a sigh.  Mrs. Gresley did sigh as she crossed the threshold.  That prostrate porch meant expense.  She had understood from her husband that Dick had wantonly torn out the clamp that supported it, and that the whole thing had in consequence given way under the first snowfall.  “He meant no harm,” Mr. Gresley had added, “but I suppose in the Colonies they mistake horse-play for wit.”

Mrs. Gresley went back to the drawing-room, and sat down to her needle-work.  She was an exquisite needlewoman, but all the activity of her untiring hands was hardly able to stem the tide of mending that was for ever flowing in upon her.  When was she to find time to finish the darling little garments which the new baby required?  Fraeulein had been kind in helping, but Fraeulein’s eyes are not very strong, or her stitches in consequence very small.  Mrs. Gresley would have liked to sit in the school-room when lessons were over, but Fraeulein had been so distant at luncheon about a rissole that she had not the courage to go in.

So she sat and stitched with a heavy heart awaiting her husband’s return.  The fly was another expense.  Southminster was ten miles from Warpington, eleven according to the Loftus Arms, from which it issued, the owner of which was not on happy terms with his “teetotal” vicar.  Yet it had been absolutely necessary to have the fly, in order that Regie, who so easily caught cold, might return in safety.

The dusk was already falling, and more snow with it.

It was quite dark when Mrs. Gresley at last caught the sound of wheels, and hurried to the door.

Mr. Gresley came in, bearing Regie, fast asleep in a fur rug, and laid him carefully on the sofa, and then went out to have an altercation with the driver, who demurred in forcible language to the arrangement, adhered to by Mr. Gresley, that the cost of the fly should be considered as part payment of certain arrears of tithe which in those days it was the unhappy duty of the clergyman to collect himself.  Mr. Gresley’s methods of dealing with money matters generally brought in a high rate of interest in the way of friction, and it was a long time before the driver drove away, turning his horse deliberately on the little patch of lawn under the dining-room windows.