farms. But Sophie asked so many questions, and George was so
humanly interested, that, as confidence in the strangers grew,
they launched, with observed and acquired detail, into the lives
and deaths and doings of the Elphicks and the Moones and their
collaterals, the Haylings and the Torrells. It was a tale told
serially by Cloke in the barn, or his wife in the dairy, the last
chapters reserved for the kitchen o' nights by the big fire, when
the two had been half the day exploring about the house, where
old Iggulden, of the blue smock, cackled and chuckled to see
them. The motives that swayed the characters were beyond their
comprehension; the fates that shifted them were gods they had
never met; the sidelights Mrs. Cloke threw on act and incident
were more amazing than anything in the record. Therefore the
Chapins listened delightedly, and blessed Mrs. Shonts.

"But why--why--why--did So-and-so do so-and-so?" Sophie would
demand from her seat by the pothook; and Mrs. Cloke would answer,
smoothing her knees, "For the sake of the place."

"I give it up," said George one night in their own room. "People
don't seem to matter in this country compared to the places they
live in. The way she tells it, Friars Pardon was a sort of
Moloch."

"Poor old thing!" They had been walking round the farms as usual
before tea. "No wonder they loved it. Think of the sacrifices
they made for it. Jane Elphick married the younger Torrell to
keep it in the family. The octagonal room with the moulded
ceiling next to the big bedroom was hers. Now what did he tell
you while he was feeding the pigs?" said Sophie.