“There’s a good lot of them coming, and they look as frightened, and foolish as so many dogs that’s been caught sheep killing.  I declare I pity them.”

“Where is Mr. Winthrop?” I gasped.

“Oh, you may be certain he’s not far off; it’s just death to him having so many of them poor wretches coming around his place.  I can’t think why he lets them.”

“I will be there presently, Esmerelda,” I said, turning away.  It was certainly not my place to allow her to stand there gossiping about her employer.

I did not wait to brush my rumpled hair or bestow more than a passing glance in the mirror, where I caught sight of a pair of wide, frightened eyes and an unusually pale face.  Mr. Winthrop was waiting for me in the hall.  In my excitement I still held in my hand the little sock I had been knitting.  He glanced at it curiously, but made no mention of it.

“Your pensioners have come—­a beggarly looking crowd.”

“Are there many?”

“Not more than a dozen.  You will have to negotiate with Thomas to get your gifts carted home.  Their baskets will hold only a tithe of what you have to donate.”

“May I tell him to get the horses?”

I looked up at him, I dare say, appealingly; for I felt quite overwhelmed with care.  He smiled grimly.

“You may order all the servants to go to work—­anything to get that crowd away.”

“Don’t you feel sorry for them, Mr. Winthrop?” I pleaded.  “Just think how hard it is to be poor, and to come to you with a basket for vegetables.”

“Yes, that last must be the bitterest drop in their misery,” he said, sarcastically.  We were walking slowly around to the garden, but our progress was much too swift for my courage.  I would gladly have walked the entire length of Cavendish to have escaped what had now become a very difficult task.  I resolved on one thing, however; not to be drawn into any further conversation with Mr. Winthrop, nor allow him to entrap me in his merciless way again.

A bend in the garden walk brought me face to face with the Mill Road people; the crowd consisted principally of women and boys; only a man or two condescending to come with their baskets; or it may be they thought the loss of a half day in the Mill would be poorly compensated by the garden stuff they would get.  Mrs. Blake was there,—­a crape veil hanging sideways from her bonnet, which I took as a mark of respect for Daniel’s wife.  She carried no basket; and, from the compassionate look on her face, I concluded she came with the hope to lighten my task, if possible.  I went directly to her, and shook her hand as cordially as if she had been one of our bluest blooded Cavendish aristocracy.  I saw her cast a half frightened glance at Mr. Winthrop, but my fearless manner seemed to reassure her, as she soon regained her customary coolness of demeanor.  I nodded cordially to the rest of the group who all seemed just then to be gazing at me in a very helpless