With which remark Mrs. Trapes went about her household duties, leaving Ravenslee to lounge and smoke and dream blissfully of Hermione.

“Y’ see,” said Mrs. Trapes, wandering in with a plate, “it’ll make things s’ much easier for all of us; we shall begin t’ feel almost rich—­some of us.  ’Are warned that all rents will be re-dooced by fifty per cent.’  Well, well!” and she wandered out again.

But presently she was back once more, this time with the tablecloth, which she proceeded to spread, though still lost in dreamy abstraction.

“At first I couldn’t an’ I wouldn’t believe it, Mr. Geoffrey—­no, sir!” she continued in the same rapt voice.  “But every one’s got a notice same as mine, so I guess it must be true—­don’t ye think?”

“Not a doubt of it!” answered Ravenslee.

“But th’ burnin’ question as I asks myself is—­who?  It’s signed ’By Order’, y’ see, well—­whose?  One sure thing, it ain’t Mulligan.”

“But he owns the place, doesn’t he?”

“He did, Mr. Geoffrey, an’ that’s what worries me—­continual.  What I demands is—­who now?”

“Echo, Mrs. Trapes, methinks doth answer ‘Who?’ By the way, it was—­er—­salmon and green peas I think you—­”

“My land, that bit o’ salmon’ll bile itself t’ rags!” and incontinent she vanished.

However, in due time Ravenslee sat down to as tasty a supper as might be and did ample justice to it, while Mrs. Trapes once more read aloud for his edification from the wondrous circular, and was again propounding the vexed and burning question of “who” when she was interrupted by a knocking without, and going to the door, presently returned with little Mrs. Bowker, in whose tired eyes shone an unusual light, and whose faded voice held a strange note of gladness.

“Good evenin’, Mr. Geoffrey!” said she, bobbing him a curtsey as he rose to greet her, “my Hazel sends you her love an’ a kiss for them last candies—­an’ thank ye for all th’ medicine—­but oh, Mr. Geoffrey, an’ you, Ann Trapes, you’ll never guess what’s brought me.  I’ve come t’ wish ye good-by, we’re—­oh, Ann, we’re goin’ at last!”

“Goin’!” exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, clutching at her elbows, “y’ never mean as you’re leavin’ Mulligan’s now the rent’s been took down—­re-dooced fifty per cent.—­by order?”

“That’s just what I’m tellin’ ye—­oh, Ann, ain’t it just—­heavenly!”

“Heavenly!” repeated Mrs. Trapes, and sank into a chair.

“Yes, heavenly t’ see th’ trees an’ flowers again—­t’ live among them, Ann.”

“Samanthy Bowker—­what do you mean?”

“Why, Ann, my Tom’s had a gardener’s job offered him at a gentleman’s mansion in the country.  Tom went after it t’day—­an’ got it.  Fifteen dollars a week an’ a cottage—­free, Ann!  Hazel’s just crazy with joy—­an’ so’m I!”

Mrs. Trapes fanned herself feebly with her apron.

“All I can say is,” said she faintly, “if the world don’t come to an end soon—­I shall.  A gardener’s job!  A cottage in th’ country!  Why, that’s what you’ve been hungerin’ for, you an’ Bowker, ever since I’ve known ye.  And to-day—­it’s come!  An’ to-day the rent’s re-dooced itself fifty per cent. by order—­oh, dear land o’ my fathers!  When d’ ye go?”