Ipsie stared roundly and meditatively.

“Dunno!”—­she said—­“’Specks I will!  But oh, my Zozey-Posey is so bad!” and she screwed her little flaxen head round with an expression of the most comical distress—­“See my wip?” And she held up a long stem of golden-rod in flower,—­“Zozey dot to be wipped—­ poor Zozey!  But he’s dot to be tied up fust!”

Josey heard all this nonsense babble with delighted interest, and surveyed the tops of his decorated boots with much admiration.

“Ain’t she a little caution!” he said—­“She do mind me somehow of th’ owld Squire’s gel!  Ay, she do!—­Miss Maryllia was just as peart and dauntsome when she was her age.  Did I ever tell ye, Passon, ‘bout Miss Maryllia’s legs an’ the wopses’ nest?”

John started violently.  What was the old man talking about?  He felt that he must immediately put a stop to any chance of indecorous garrulity.

“No, you never told me anything about it, Josey,”—­he said, hastily,—­“an I’ve no time just now to stay and listen.  I’m off on a visit for two or three days—­you won’t see me again till Sunday.”

Josey drew his pipe slowly out of his mouth.

“Goin’ away, Passon, are ye?” he said in quavering accents of surprise—­“Ain’t that a bit strange like?”

“Why yes, I suppose it is,”—­said John, half laughing—­“I never do go away I know—­but—–­”

“Look ‘ere Passon!  Speak frank an’ fair!—­there baint nothin’ drivin’ ye away, be there?”

The hot colour sprang to Walden’s brows.

“Why no, Josey!—­of course not!  How can you think of such a thing?”

Josey stooped and patted Ipsie’s flaxen tangle of curls softly.  Then he straightened himself and looked fully into John’s face.

“Well I dunno how ’tis, Passon,”—­he said, slowly—­“When the body gets old an’ feels the fallin’ o’ the dark shadder, the soul begins to feel young, an’ sees all at once the light a-comin’ which makes all things clear.  See this little child playin’ wi’ me?—­well, she don’t think o’ me as an old worn man, but as somethin’ young like herself—­an’ for why?  Because she sees the soul o’ me,—­the eyes o’ the children see souls more’n bodies, if ye leave ’em alone an’ don’t worrit ’em wi’ worldly talk.  An’ it’s my soul wot sees more’n my body—­an’ that’s why I sez to ye, Passon, that if so be you’ve any trouble don’t run away from it!  Stay an’ fight it out—­it’s the onny way!—­fight it out!”

Walden was for a moment taken aback.  Then he answered steadily.

“You’re right, Josey!  If I had any trouble I should stay and as you say, fight it out;—­but I’ve none, Josey!—­none in the world!  I am as happy as I can be,—­far happier than I deserve,—­and I’m only going away to see my old friend Bishop Brent—­you remember—­the Bishop who consecrated the church seven years ago?”—­Josey nodded comprehensively, “He lives, as you know, quite a hundred miles from here—­but I shall be in my usual place on Sunday.”