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"Good evening, Mrs. Harman—and how's your goodman to-day?"

"Reckon he's the same, Parson. His affliction never changes."

"Eh well, I'll step up and see him. Is he in his bedroom?"

"Aye—he's in his chair. I haven't had time yet to wash his wound and put him to bed. We're hard at the lambing now, and short-handed for shepherds."

"Short-handed with such a family as yours—five boys and girls, all bred to farming?"

"Maybe, Parson, but they're lumperdee louts for all that, and I've eight lambs in the kitchen crying for their dams' milk. If you'll pardon me I'll go to 'em now, for my pan's on the fire and only that fool Condemnation to watch it."

She whisked off, leaving him to find his own way upstairs. Gervase did not like her and grimaced at her ample backside. The next moment he heard her voice raised loud in anger.

"Aye, to it, scold!" he muttered, fumbling up the dark staircase. "Scold the poor little foundling, since you dare not scold the Parson. I'd give much to have the poor child out of her hand."