“Why can’t you both stay?  Ellen ull have to stay if I make her.  I don’t believe a word of what she says about going as lady’s maid—­she hasn’t got the grit—­nor the character neither, though she doesn’t seem to think of that.”

“It ud be unaccountable awkward, Jo—­and it ud set Ellen against both of us, and bring you trouble.  Maybe if I go she’ll take a different view of things.  I shan’t let off the place for longer than three year ... it’ll give her a chance to think different, and then maybe we can fix up something....”

Joanna fastened on to these words, both for her own comfort in Arthur’s loss, and for the quieting of her conscience, which told her that it was preposterous that he should leave Donkey Street so that she could keep Ellen at Ansdore.  Of course, if she did her duty she would pack Ellen off to the Isle of Wight, so that Arthur could stay.  The fact was, however, that she wanted the guilty, ungracious Ellen more than she wanted the upright, devoted Arthur—­she was glad to know of any terms on which her sister would consent to remain under her roof—­it seemed almost too good to be true, to think that once more she had the little sister home....

So she signed the warrant for Arthur’s exile, which was to do so much to spread the more favourable opinion of Ellen Alce that had mysteriously crept into being since her return.  He let off Donkey Street on a three years’ lease to young Jim Honisett, the greengrocer’s son at Rye, who had recently married and whose wish to set up as farmer would naturally be to the advantage of his father’s shop.  He let his furniture with it too....  He himself would take nothing to his brother, who kept house in a very big way, the same as he farmed....  “Reckon I should ought to learn a thing or two about grain-growing that’ll be useful to me when I come back,” said Arthur stoutly.

He had come to say good-bye to Joanna on a June evening just before the quarter day.  The hot scents of hay-making came in through the open parlour window, and they were free, for Ellen had gone with Mr. and Mrs. Southland to Rye for the afternoon—­of late she had accepted one or two small invitations from the neighbours.  Joanna poured Arthur out a cup of tea from the silver teapot he had given her as a wedding present six years ago.

“Well, Arthur—­reckon it’ll be a long time before you and me have tea again together.”

“Reckon it will.”

“Howsumever, I shall always think of you when I pour it out of your teapot—­which will be every day that I don’t have it in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Jo.”

“And you’ll write and tell me how you’re getting on?”

“Reckon I will.”

“Maybe you’ll send me some samples of those oats your brother did so well with.  I’m not over pleased with that Barbacklaw, and ud make a change if I could find better.”

“I’ll be sure and send.”