scholarship is such that she stayed on as governess for a time. Let ’em laugh now if they can: Mrs. Charmond herself is not better informed than my girl Grace.” 

 There was something between high indifference and humble emotion in his delivery, which made it difficult for them to reply. Winterborne’s interest was of a kind which did not show itself in words; listening, he stood by the fire, mechanically stirring the embers with a spar-gad. 

 “You’ll be, then, ready, Giles?” Melbury continued, awaking from a reverie. “Well, what was the latest news at Shottsford yesterday, Mr. Bawtree?” 

 “Well, Shottsford is Shottsford still—you can’t victual your carcass there unless you’ve got money; and you can’t buy a cup of genuine there, whether or no....But as the saying is, ‘Go abroad and you’ll hear news of home.’ It seems that our new neighbor, this young Dr. What’s-his-name, is a strange, deep, perusing gentleman; and there’s good reason for supposing he has sold his soul to the wicked one.” 

 “’Od name it all,” murmured the timber-merchant, unimpressed by the news, but reminded of other things by the subject of it; “I’ve got to meet a gentleman this very morning? and yet I’ve planned to go to Sherton Abbas for the maid.” 

 “I won’t praise the doctor’s wisdom till I hear what sort of bargain he’s made,” said the top-sawyer. 

 “’Tis only an old woman’s tale,” said Bawtree. “But it seems that he wanted certain books on some mysterious science or black-art, and in order that the people hereabout should not know anything about his dark readings, he ordered ’em direct from London, and not from the Sherton book-seller. The parcel was delivered by mistake at the pa’son’s, and he wasn’t at home; so his wife opened it, and went into hysterics when she read ’em, thinking her husband had turned heathen, and ’twould be the ruin of the children. But when he came he said he knew no more about ’em than she; and found they were this Mr. Fitzpier’s property. So he wrote ‘Beware!’ outside, and sent ’em on by the sexton.” 

 “He must be a curious young man,” mused the hollow-turner. 

 “He must,” said Timothy Tangs. 

 “Nonsense,” said Mr. Melbury, authoritatively, “he’s only a gentleman fond of science and philosophy and poetry, and, in fact, every kind of knowledge; and being lonely here, he passes his time in making such matters his hobby.” 

 “Well,” said old Timothy, “’tis a 

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