"You have a bad memory, Mr. Smilash," she said good-humoredly. "You
never give the same account of yourself twice."

"I am well aware that I do not express myself with exactability. Ladies
and gentlemen have that power over words that they can always say what
they mean, but a common man like me can't. Words don't come natural to
him. He has more thoughts than words, and what words he has don't fit
his thoughts. Might I take a turn with the roller, and make myself
useful about the place until nightfall, for ninepence?"

Miss Wilson, who was expecting more than her usual Saturday visitors,
considered the proposition and assented. "And remember," she said, "that
as you are a stranger here, your character in Lyvern depends upon the
use you make of this opportunity."

"I am grateful to your noble ladyship. May your ladyship's goodness sew
up the hole which is in the pocket where I carry my character, and which
has caused me to lose it so frequent. It's a bad place for men to keep
their characters in; but such is the fashion. And so hurray for the
glorious nineteenth century!"

He took off his coat, seized the roller, and began to pull it with
an energy foreign to the measured millhorse manner of the accustomed
laborer. Miss Wilson looked doubtfully at him, but, being in haste, went
indoors without further comment. The girls mistrusting his eccentricity,
kept aloof. Agatha determined to have another and better look at him.
Racket in hand, she walked slowly across the grass and came close to him
just as he, unaware of her approach, uttered a groan of exhaustion and
sat down to rest.