motionless as a statue. "If only your father would trade you off
against an honest debt--But you're gentry: I knows the sort.
Well, well, 'tis a long tramp back to Owston: so here's wishing you
good night, missies all. If I take back no money, and no pay but a
pint of sour cider, I've seen the prettiest picter in all
Lincolnshire; so we'll count it a holiday."

He was gone. With the dropping of the sun a chilly shadow had fallen
on the mound, and for some moments the sisters remained motionless,
agonised, each in her own way distraught.

"The brute!" said Kezzy at length, drawing a long breath.

Hetty rose deliberately. "Child," she said, and her voice was hard,
"don't be a goose! The poor creature came for his money. He had the
right to insult us."

She smoothed the dew from her skirt and walked swiftly down the
slope.

At the foot of it Johnny Whitelamb had risen and was holding his
drawing aslant, in some hope, perhaps, that the angle might correct
the perspective of old Mettle's portrait. Certainly it was a
villainous portrait, as he acknowledged to himself with a sigh.
Parts of it must be rubbed out, and his right hand rummaged in his
pocket and found a crust. But Johnny, among other afflictions,
suffered from an unconscionable appetite. While he doubted where to
begin, his teeth met in the bread, and he started guiltily, for it
was more than half eaten when Hetty swooped down on him.