at work harvesting for Muster Hill's widow, and puzzling his head day
and night as to what to do with his box.

When the last field had been carried and the harvest supper was over, he
came home late, and wearied out. His working life at Clinton Magna was
done; and the family he had worked for so long was broken up in distress
and poverty. Yet he felt only a secret exultation. Such toil and effort
behind--such a dreamland in front!

Next day he set to work to wind up his affairs. The furniture of the
cottage was left to Eliza's son Jim, and the daughter had arranged for
the carting of it to the house twelve miles off where her parents lived.
She was to go with it on the morrow, and John would give up the cottage
and walk over to Frampton, where he had already secured a lodging.

Only twenty-four hours!--and he had not yet decided. Which was it to be
--Saunders after all--or the savings-bank--or Bessie?

He was cording up his various possessions--a medley lot--indifferent
parcels and bundles, when Bessie Costrell knocked at the door. She had
already offered to stow away anything he might like to leave with her.

'Well, I thought you'd be busy,' she said as she walked in, 'an I came
up to lend a hand. Is them the things you're goin to leave me to take
care on?'

John nodded.

'Field's cart, as takes Louisa's things to-morrer, is a-goin to deliver
these at your place first. They're more nor I thought they would be. But