Bessie's marriage passed off in high style,—the change that had come over her mother being most marked—and after a fortnight of "doing the grand" at Bournemouth she and her "Darling" Jones settled down to business with the firm determination of making it "hum." And "hum" it did. Bessie had been a treasure in the business at Hadley, but she was a far smarter business woman now that she shared some responsibility. Every morning the shutters were down at eight o'clock, every corner thoroughly swept by nine, every order attended to promptly, supplies well seen to. It was like taking in a breath of Swiss air to go into that shop. Many a sleepy country-woman rubbed her eyes and pulled herself together after an interview with Bessie. It was not simply done for the money it brought, though of course the more business done the more it was to the advantage of the managers, but the main impetus was in the thought that she was helping Mrs. Waring. Bessie's highest delight was to win her "Well done!"—to know she was hastening the development of her scheme, for Phebe had taken both Reynolds and Jones into her confidence.

Bessie's mother marvelled at the change which had come over her, and wondered if it could possibly be the same girl who used to be always in hot water! If there was anything "hot" now-a-days it was more of the nature of milk than water.

The money for Phebe's scheme was gradually accumulating. One or two special agencies had helped in this, but it had mostly been won by hard and constant application to work. And all the time the sum in the bank had been growing Phebe's influence had grown too. There was never a town's meeting called to discuss any forward movement, or to right any wrong, but she was invited, mostly accompanied by her boy. But, as nearly always happens, alongside with this growing influence was a growing disfavour with well-to-do, rut-bound people, especially with those who had class prejudices and believed that woman was simply the chattel of a man. This was very much accentuated when she was called in as an arbitrator in a dispute between some men and their master, and was still further manifested when she publicly exposed the wrongs of some laundry girls. Whenever she saw wrongs or injustice she was bound to speak out. She even once spoke out at a church-meeting against the custom of relegating the poorest members to the top seats in the church gallery. That was a shocking offence, and almost won for her church-discipline. But she calmly went on her way, her eyes still fixed on the silver stars, and more and more became the confidante and helper of the poor.

The day at last arrived—the day she had looked forward to for months, even years—on which she paid into the bank to her "scheme account" the last needed amount before commencing operations, bringing the grand total up to five hundred pounds!

The following day arrangements were made for an interview with Stephen Collins. Both Nanna and she agreed it had better take place at her sister's house, her old home. It would be quieter, and there would be less chance for gossip to make anything out of it.

The father was dead, but the sister was still staying on in the old house. Phebe frankly told her she wanted a business talk with Stephen, and asked if she would mind inviting him.

"I shall be only too pleased," was the reply. "The wonder to me is you manage to get along so much by yourself as you do. Who would have imagined our dreamy Phebe turning into an enterprising business woman, and quite a public character, too! How things change! I used to be the go-ahead, and now I'm as good as a recluse."

"You've done the hardest piece of work, after all, dear," was Phebe's answer; "one that God won't forget. And, besides, you have the opportunity of coming out into the world and its work now father is at rest."

Stephen Collins accepted the invitation, and on a dreary Friday afternoon at the end of October the three gathered round a cheerful fire in the old-fashioned parlour.

For a minute or so Phebe thought they were girls and boy together again, and that the door would open presently and "mother" would come in with her cheery voice, "Girls, it's time for tea, and you'd better get Steve to help you!" How many a romp they had had together, especially when "father" was away at market! The fire crackled and the old clock ticked just as they had done then, but a glance at Stephen's iron-grey hair and his sad, earnest face gave proof enough that the old merry days had gone by for ever.

They talked about the weather, about the new tenant in the next farm—all three seemed anxious to talk, and yet there were awkward pauses, and Phebe could not bring herself to mention her scheme. The Spirit of the Past seemed to hold them.

The sister must have known Phebe's thoughts, for all at once she said: "It's no use waiting for mother to announce tea to-day. I must get it ready myself."

"Let me help you," said Phebe.

"No, you sit and talk with Stephen." She still called him by his Christian name.

Phebe poked the fire, and swept some dust from the hearth, conscious all the time that Stephen was watching her closely. When she took her seat again they were both silent, till at last Stephen said:

"Mrs. Waring, I have not the slightest idea what it is you wish me to do for you, but rest assured whatever it is I will do my utmost to fulfil your wish. Please do not hesitate. Trust me."

"Trust you! There is no need to tell me to do that. I do not hesitate because of any thought of unwillingness or mistrust—never that." For the first time their eyes met and she could not resist putting her hand on his, just for an instant. "Why I hesitate is because I am going to ask so much, and you may not think my plan a wise one."

"You need not hesitate on either of those points. I have plenty of time at my disposal, and I should not put my judgment before yours."

"I don't think for a minute my sister will agree to my scheme."

"Then we must try to convert her."

It was not till the tea had been cleared away and the trio had gathered round the fire again that the scheme was unfolded. Phebe introduced it by saying: "You must please both of you let me tell my tale without interruptions, for I really feel nervous talking to two such critics. When I have quite finished, then you can talk. I must first of all tell you I have saved up five hundred pounds, and I want to buy Farmer Green's big meadow in Haystone Lane; he wants a thousand pounds for it."

"How can you buy a thousand-pound meadow for five hundred pounds? Folks will say that's like a woman," interrupted the sister.

"Will they? But you must please let me finish my story. I propose for the present getting a mortgage of five hundred. I want to put this meadow in trust of Mr. Collins, Mr. Black, Jim Coates, and my two assistants, Reynolds and Jones, with Mr. Collins as chairman, or something of that sort. Then I want this meadow turned into garden allotments. I think it will make forty. One of these I want to reserve for a plot for our railway-hall to stand on, to be used as a club-room. These thirty-nine allotments I want let out to working-men, or women, too, if they felt equal to spade-work. These would bring in a rental of thirty-nine pounds; twenty of this would be needed for interest and the remainder to be spent in prizes for the best things grown in the gardens. For the club I should propose that a small quarterly subscription be charged, which would be sufficient to keep the place going. I hope by the time the scheme is started to have saved another fifty pounds, which I should like spent in the purchase of plants and trees to start the gardens with." Phebe paused. The sister held up her hand like the children do at school: "Have you finished! Please may I talk?"

"Yes, I have finished."

"Well, I think you are a very foolish woman to squander your money in such a fashion! You've got your old age to think of, and your child to provide for. Let your working-men provide gardens for themselves—they can spend plenty of money in the public-house. You stint yourself to help them, and not one in twenty will give you a 'Thank you' for it. No, I say you are not called upon to do such a thing as this. What do you say, Stephen?"

"I say, it's just like her."

"That may be, but that doesn't say it's wise."

"You are too hard on these men, Lizzie. They can afford no luxuries, no hobbies, and there is little wonder they go to the public-house. I often think if I had a home like they have I should do the same myself; there is nowhere else that is bright and attractive for them to go. As for their thanks, I don't want them; besides, my name is not to be mentioned in connection with the scheme. But before I die I hope to be able to clear off the mortgage. As for my boy he can always get a living out of the business. I have no need to provide further than that for him." Turning to Stephen: "Will you do this for me, Mr. Collins?"

"I will." No marriage-vow was given with more earnestness.

"Well, you are the funniest woman that ever God made," exclaimed the sister.

When the time came to separate, Phebe would not hear of either her sister or Stephen accompanying her, though the night was dark. They went as far as the garden-gate with her, and as they stood there after she had left them, Stephen said in a choked voice: "You call her the funniest woman God made: I call her the best and the bravest."

"So she is," the sister replied frankly; "but then it doesn't do to tell her so, does it?"

"I only wish I might," was his low response.

As the sister walked up the path again to the silent old home she whispered to herself: "Poor old Steve! Dear old fellow! What a queer world this is!"

While Phebe was away from home that evening Nanna sat for a while in the desk in the grocery department; she often did so when a quiet time was expected. "I shall write a book some day," she used to say, "and the title will be 'From the Mangle to the Desk.'" Certainly she looked wonderfully wise there with her spectacles on her nose.

All at once she was attracted by the sound of a voice. Her memory for faces was very defective, but for voices very acute. Where had she heard that voice before? Looking up she saw a tall, elderly, shabby-looking man, who every now and again gave a little hacking cough. She watched him as he bought half an ounce of tea, a rasher of bacon, one egg, and half a pound of sugar. Then she heard him say to Reynolds, who was serving him:

"Who owns this shop?"

"Mrs. Waring."

"I wondered who 'P. Waring' was: it used to be 'R. Waring.'"

"Yes."

"Where is Ralph Waring now?"

"I don't know—he went abroad on business."

A little stifled laugh: "Oh, did he?"

Nanna saw that Reynolds suddenly looked up and gave the man a searching look. When he had gone Reynolds went up to the desk. He was too agitated to speak, and Nanna was feeling just the same. At last she managed to say:

"Follow him!" pointing to the door.

Just as he was Reynolds rushed to the door; he looked to the right, he looked to the left, but the questioning customer with his cough and his laugh was out of sight, for the gathering gloom of the chilly autumn night made escape easy.

It might have been a December night the way Reynolds was shivering. "Was it——?" he asked in a hoarse whisper as he returned to the desk.

"Yes," was all her answer. Then, "I must go at once and meet the mistress."

"Let me go."

"No, that would never do. She would wonder what was the matter, and as long as possible we must keep it from her."

As fast as she could the dear old lady hurried along the lonely country road. The little, stifled sarcastic laugh was still sounding in her ears, a laugh that spoke of a heart unchanged except as trouble had soured it.

At last she heard footsteps—light ones—she could see a woman's form! Yes, it was her dear Phebe, and, thank God, she was alone!

"Why, Nanna!" exclaimed Phebe, as soon as she recognised her; "whatever brought you out a night like this?"—kissing her on the cheek and taking hold of her arm.

"To take care of you, dearie, to be sure; and, besides, I wanted a walk."

"On a night like this?"

"Yes, I felt stifled like," which was quite true.

Phebe's suspicions were aroused, but finding all well at home, concluded it was just some whim of the dear old soul's, or else she had suddenly been seized with some unaccountable fear, as is sometimes the case even with young folks.