"I know the miller, and it wasn't he--but when I come to think of it,
the youngster had that same rustic look to him. By Jove, I am sorry it
was a Revercomb," he added under his breath.

A frown had settled on the face of the old gentleman, and he poured the
syrup over his buckwheat cakes with the manner of a man who is about to
argue a case for the defence when his natural sympathies are with the
prosecution.

"They are an irascible family from the mother down," he observed, "and
I'm sorry you've got into trouble with them so soon for the miller is
probably the most popular man in the county." He paused, cleared his
throat, and after a tentative glance at Kesiah, which fell short of her
bosom, decided to leave the sentence in his mind unspoken while they
remained in her presence.

A little later, when the two men were smoking in the library, Gay
brought the conversation back again to the point at which the lawyer had
so hastily dropped it.

"Am I likely, then, to have trouble with the Revercombs?" he asked, with
a disturbing memory of Blossom's flaxen head under the hooded shawl.

"It's not improbable that the family will take up the matter. These
country folk are fearful partisans, you see. However, it may lead
to nothing worse than the miller's refusing to grind your corn or
forbidding you to use the bridle path over his pasture."

"Had my uncle any friction in that quarter when he lived here?"