get it out of that house, after me throwing Perkin in the stream and all?"
"It's terrible," said Peake. "They want to marry her to their boy, and she handled him rough, and she's hid all night in the mow, and they're holdin' her belongings, and won't pay her her wages, and she's half-starved."
"Weel," bit off Kirke, cracking his whip, "you have got yourself in a fine pickle."
Delight clung to the wheel and raised her eyes piteously to his. "Mr. Kirke, if you will only go to the house and get me the china tea-set that I brought across the ocean and have never been parted from since I lost my Granny, I'll bless you the rest of my days. I don't mind about my clothes. I'll leave them gladly if only I can get my—"
"Hop into the cairt," interrupted Kirke. "I'll see what can be done."
She climbed to the seat beside him, and wheeling rapidly about, he drove to the side door of the farm-house. He jumped out and knocked with the butt of his whip. To Delight he seemed nothing less than a god come to deliver her, a god in a raincoat and a jaunty bowler hat, but a god, nevertheless. Oh, but she was afraid! Even sitting up there in the high cart, with Kirke between her and the door, she was afraid of the Heaslips. Her eyes, wild and mournful, were fixed on the panels. A dragging sound came from within. Then the door opened softly and Mr. Heaslip appeared on the threshold, the basket containing the tea-set in his hand. With lowered eyes he set it outside on the stone step, then turned back again. Mrs. Heaslip now appeared holding one end of the little tin trunk. Her husband took up the other end and together they set it out beside the basket.
"Now about that milk," began Kirke, in a high, complaining voice.
