“A flaxen, curly man, with a terrible straight back, and a fighting nose and blue eyes.  He hunted the North Dartmoor Hounds and every girl in these parts—­good-looking and otherwise—­was daft about him.  They ran after him like sheep.  There was a terrible dashing style to him, and he knowed the way to get round a female so well as you do the way to get round a corner.  They worshipped him.  Just a thought bowed in the legs along of living on hosses.  A wonder on hossback, and very clever over any country.  Great at steeple-chasing also, but too heavy for the flat—­else he’d been a jockey and nothing else.  And he would have married Mary Tuckett years ago if her father had let him.  But old Tuckett hated Nathan worse than sin and dared Mary to speak with him or lift her eyes to him if they met.  So away he went to Ireland; but not before that girl promised to wait for ever, if need be.”

They talked a bit longer; then Mrs. Badge said a deep thing.

“Look here:  don’t tell nobody that your brother be dead for the minute.  Keep it close, and if you must tell about it, come up here and tell me.  I’ll listen.  But not a word to anybody else until I give the word.”

“Mayn’t I tell Johnny French?”

“Not even him,” declared Mrs. Badge.  “Not a single soul.  I’ve got a reason for what I say.  And now be off, Sarah, and let me think a bit.”

With that Mrs. White started; but she hadn’t reached the tumble-down gate of Walna—­in fact, ’twas the head of an old iron bedstead stuck there and not a gate at all—­when Charity called after her.

“Go brisk and catch up that girl Mary Tuckett,” she said.  “Tell her, on second thoughts—­for her good and not for mine—­that I’ll do what she wants.  Go clever and brisk, and you’ll over-get her afore she’s home again.”

So Mrs. White trotted off, and very soon found Mary looking over a hedge and helping a young man to waste his time, according to her usual custom when there was a coat about.

But Sarah gave her message, and fifteen minutes later Mary was back along with Mrs. Badge.

II

“I’ve changed my mind about ’e, Mary,” said the wise woman.  “I’m terrible unwilling to tell young people concerning the future as a rule—­for why?  Because the future of most people be cruel miserable, and it knocks the heart out of the young to hear of what’s coming; but you’m a sensible girl, and don’t want to go through life blind.  And another thing is this:  ’tis half the battle to be fore-warned; and a brave man or woman can often beat the cards themselves, and alter their own fate—­if they only know it in time.”