A dark-haired maid opened the door and led him to the great kitchen at the back.  Hams wrapped in paper hung from the rafters, and strings of onions.  The pans over the fire-place were bright as mirrors, and through the open window he heard the voices of children at play as well as the clacking of poultry in the town-place.

“I’ll go and tell the mistress,” said the maid; but she paused at the door.  “I suppose you don’t remember me, now?”

“No,” said Taffy truthfully.

“My name’s Lizzie Pezzack.  You was with the young lady, that day, when she bought my doll.  I mind you quite well.  But I put my hair up last Easter, and that makes a difference.”

“Why, you were only a child!”

“I was seventeen last week.  And—­I say, do you know the Bryanite, over to St. Ann’s—­Preacher Jacky Pascoe?”

He nodded, remembering the caution given him.

“I got salvation off him.  Master and mis’-ess they’ve got salvation too; but they take it very quiet.  They’re very fond of one another; if you please one, you’ll please ’em both.  They let me walk over to prayer-meetin’ once a week.  But I don’t go by Mendarva’s shop—­ that’s where you work—­though ’tis the shortest way; because there’s a woman buried in the road there, with a stake through her, and I’m a terrible coward for ghosts.”

She paused as if expecting him to say something; but Taffy was staring at a “neck” of corn, elaborately plaited, which hung above the mantel-shelf.  And just then Mrs. Joll entered the kitchen.

Taffy—­without any reason—­had expected to see a middle-aged housewife.  But Mrs. Joll was hardly over thirty; a shapely woman, with a plain, pleasant face and auburn hair, the wealth of which she concealed by wearing it drawn straight back from the forehead and plaited in the severest coil behind.  She shook hands.

“You’ll like a drink of milk before I show you your room?”

Taffy was grateful for the milk.  While he drank it, the voices of the children outside rose suddenly to shouts of laughter.

“That will be their father come home,” said Mrs. Joll, and going to the side door called to him.  “John, put the children down!  Mr. Raymond’s son is here.”

Mr. Joll, who had been galloping round the farmyard with a small girl of three on his back, and a boy of six tugging at his coat-tails, pulled up, and wiped his good-natured face.

“Kindly welcome,” said he, coming forward and shaking hands, while the two children stared at Taffy.

After a minute the boy said, “My name’s Bob.  Come and play horses, too.”

Farmer Joll looked at Taffy with a shyness that was comic.  “Shall we?”

“Mr. Raymond will be tired enough already,” his wife suggested.

“Not a bit,” declared Taffy; and hoisting Bob on his back, he set off furiously prancing after the farmer.

By dinner-time he and the family were fast friends, and after dinner the farmer took him off to be introduced to Mendarva the Smith.