first knew him in early childhood, they talked freely of the
Applegarth business, and Mr. Turnbull promised to make inquiries at
once. Of course, he took a despondent view of jam. Jam, he inclined
to think, was being overdone; after all, the country could consume
only a certain quantity of even the most wholesome preserves, and a
glut of jam already threatened the market. Applegarth? By the bye,
did he not remember proceedings in bankruptcy connected with that
unusual name? He must look into the matter. And, talking about
bankruptcy--oh! how bad his lumbago was to-night!--poor Thomas
Hart, of Three Ash Farm, was going to be sold up. Dear, dear! On
every side, look where one would, nothing but decline and calamity.
What was England coming to? Day by day he had expected to see the
failure of Sherwood Brothers; how had they escaped the common doom
of sugar refiners? Free trade, free trade; all very fine in theory,
but look at its results on corn and sugar. For his own part he
favoured a policy of moderate protection.

All this was not more than Will had foreseen. It would be annoying
if Mr. Turnbull ultimately took an adverse view of his proposal; in
that case, though his mother was quite free to manage her property
as she chose, Will felt that he should hot venture to urge his
scheme against the lawyer's advice, and money must be sought
elsewhere. A few days would decide the matter. As he went upstairs
to bed, he dismissed worries from his mind.

The old quiet, the old comfort of home. Not a sound but that of
pattering rain in the still night. As always, the room smelt of
lavender, blended with that indescribable fragrance which comes of
extreme cleanliness in an old country house. But for changed wall
paper and carpet, everything was as Will remembered it ever since he