His paper—­though he did not apply to it the word ‘favorite,’ having that proper literary feeling toward all newspapers, that they took him in rather than he them—­gave him on Friday morning precisely the same news, of the rick-burning, as it gave to Stanley at breakfast and to John on his way to the Home Office.  To John, less in the know, it merely brought a knitting of the brow and a vague attempt to recollect the numbers of the Worcestershire constabulary.  To Felix it brought a feeling of sickness.  Men whose work in life demands that they shall daily whip their nerves, run, as a rule, a little in advance of everything.  And goodness knows what he did not see at that moment.  He said no word to Nedda, but debated with himself and Flora what, if anything, was to be done.  Flora, whose sense of humor seldom deserted her, held the more comfortable theory that there was nothing to be done as yet.  Soon enough to cry when milk was spilled!  He did not agree, but, unable to suggest a better course, followed her advice.  On Saturday, however, receiving Stanley’s wire, he had much difficulty in not saying to her, “I told you so!” The question that agitated him now was whether or not to take Nedda with him.  Flora said:  “Yes.  The child will be the best restraining influence, if there is really trouble brewing!” Some feeling fought against this in Felix, but, suspecting it to be mere jealousy, he decided to take her.  And, to the girl’s rather puzzled delight, they arrived at Becket that day in time for dinner.  It was not too reassuring to find John there, too.  Stanley had also wired to him.  The matter must indeed be serious!

The usual week-end was in progress.  Clara had made one of her greatest efforts.  A Bulgarian had providentially written a book in which he showed, beyond doubt, that persons fed on brown bread, potatoes, and margarine, gave the most satisfactory results of all.  It was a discovery of the first value as a topic for her dinner-table—­seeming to solve the whole vexed problem of the laborers almost at one stroke.  If they could only be got to feed themselves on this perfect programme, what a saving of the situation!  On those three edibles, the Bulgarian said—­and he had been well translated—­a family of five could be maintained at full efficiency for a shilling per day.  Why! that would leave nearly eight shillings a week, in many cases more, for rent, firing, insurance, the man’s tobacco, and the children’s boots.  There would be no more of that terrible pinching by the mothers, to feed the husband and children properly, of which one heard so much; no more lamentable deterioration in our stock!  Brown bread, potatoes, margarine—­quite a great deal could be provided for seven shillings!  And what was more delicious than a well-baked potato with margarine of good quality?  The carbohydrates—­or was it hybocardrates—­ah, yes! the kybohardrates—­would be present in really sufficient quantity!  Little