chalet. Fairholme arrived first, exclaiming: "Fearful shower!" and
briskly turned his back to the ladies in order to stand at the edge
of the veranda and shake the water out of his hat. Josephs came next,
shrinking from the damp contact of his own garments. He cringed to Miss
Wilson, and hoped that she had escaped a wetting.

"So far I have," she replied. "The question is, how are we to get home?"

"Oh, it's only a shower," said Josephs, looking up cheerfully at the
unbroken curtain of cloud. "It will clear up presently."

"It ain't for a common man to set up his opinion again' a gentleman wot
have profesh'nal knowledge of the heavens, as one may say," said the
man, "but I would 'umbly offer to bet my umbrellar to his wideawake that
it don't cease raining this side of seven o'clock."

"That man lives here," whispered Miss Wilson, "and I suppose he wants to
get rid of us."

"H'm!" said Fairholme. Then, turning to the strange laborer with the air
of a person not to be trifled with, he raised his voice, and said: "You
live here, do you, my man?"

"I do, sir, by your good leave, if I may make so bold."

"What's your name?"

"Jeff Smilash, sir, at your service."

"Where do you come from?"