Such a rush of philanthropy numbed the baker's faculties; but even in that semi-paralysed condition he remained a man of business. His fingers closed upon the coins, his feet carried him to the door; then he turned back to face this benefactor, who was shedding sovereigns in the reckless fashion of a tree casting its autumnal leaves. The old folk were to be provided with a meat tea; the Mudges were to be given a week at the seaside; the donor was to remain anonymous. Dyer in all his dreariness could not understand why Mr. Drake should desire to benefit his fellow creatures at all; but, more than that, he was actually proposing to do good stealthily. Where then was the advertis.e.m.e.nt?

"It's a lot of money, sir. You could buy a bit of land vor this," he said at last.

"I do not require any land," George answered.

"You don't get any profit so far as I can see," the baker proceeded.

"I am helping you to give Robert and Bessie the first real holiday they have ever known; I am enabling you to keep your promise; and I am enjoying the satisfaction of performing an unselfish action."

"'Tis there I'm beat. Why don't ye give the money to Robert, and tell 'en 'tis a present from me and you?"

"I will, if you like, and tell him your share is one shilling."

Dyer again moved towards the door; but still he hesitated.

"They could do it on less than five pounds, sir."

"Give them four, then, and keep the other sovereign for yourself,"

George replied, breaking out into bribery.

"What about the shilling?" asked Dyer eagerly.

"I'll let you off that."

The baker became a reformed character at once. He did not profess to understand Mr. Drake's extraordinary conduct, but he was quite willing to benefit by the eccentricities of any man. His meanness had become a by-word in the parish. Now Mr. Drake was offering to purchase him a reputation for generosity, which was almost as good as an annuity, and was giving him a sovereign for himself. Dyer was not the man to shrink from duty that was profitable.

"You're the son of your uncle, sir," he said with feeling.

"I have always set his example before me," replied George.

"I'll spare Robert a week from tomorrow. Don't ye think, sir, four pounds are a bit too much?"

"I couldn't let them do it on less," said George firmly.

"And you don't want me to tell 'em part of the money comes from you?"

"I want them to think you are keeping your promise."

The baker retired, muttering, "He wants to get 'em out of Highfield House vor certain. But that don't matter to me so long as I get my profit."

George went for a long walk to refresh himself, not bothering about his popularity any longer, as he was contemplating an act which would make future residence in Highfield impossible; but he met the Wallower in Wealth, who demanded his musical box; and the Dumpy Philosopher, who put searching questions concerning the railway and the amount of compensation for wounded feelings he was likely to receive; and the Yellow Leaf, who had just lost his wife and was going courting.

Returning, during the late afternoon, he stopped at his own house, knocked, but received no answer from that side of the street. Bessie looked out from the cottage window opposite and invited him to step in that direction.

"Have ye heard the news, Mr. George?" she whispered excitedly. "Master ha' given Robert three pounds and a week."

"Three pounds!" cried George fiercely.

"Us can't make any one believe it. Three solid sovereigns, sir! Robert ha' got teethache through biting 'em."

"I am not surprised," said George. "Dyer has been left a lot of money--he told me yesterday. An uncle, who went to New Zealand years ago, has just died and left him thousands. He can buy up the whole village if he wants to."

"Master never told Robert he'd been left money. He gave 'en the sovereigns and said 'twas a reward vor the way Robert had worked.

Couldn't spare 'em, he said, but his conscience worried him. They do say the Dyers ha' never given away anything avore 'cept the water what they boiled their cabbage in."

"When are you off?"

"First thing tomorrow. We'm going to my home, so it won't cost nothing 'cept the railway. I'm getting our things together now."

"Where's Robert?"

"Going round wi' the bread--that's him a-whistling. He'm fair mazed, Mr.

George."

"Who is to take care of the house?"

"I'll lock it up and take the keys away wi' me. Why shouldn't us go? No one won't go near the house, wi' you and policeman about."

"I think you ought to wait until Miss Yard comes back," said George, who knew enough about women to be aware how the spirit of opposition acts upon them.

"And lose our holiday! The only real holiday we've had, and the chance to see my folks again. Not likely, Mr. George! If we don't go tomorrow, master will ask vor them three sovereigns back again. How did you manage to find out he'd been left all this money?"

"I was talking with him yesterday and--it just slipped out. You will hear more when you come back."

"I'll make Robert ask 'en vor a rise. How long be you staying, Mr.

George?"

"I might be here when you return or, on the other hand, I might go tomorrow. Do you want me to take charge of the keys?"

"Somebody ought to go in and open the windows."

"I don't mind doing you a favour. If I'm called away I will leave the keys with Mrs. Dyer."

"Not wi' she. Leave 'em wi' Mrs. Cann to the post office. You come this evening, and I'll give ye the keys."

"All right," said George. "But you know I don't approve of your going after having been left in charge."

"If I don't go, Robert will, and he ain't going home without me," said Bessie. "I wouldn't like leaving if Kezia wur here, vor I'd dread her selling some of my things; but Robert ha' told the volks the house belongs to you, so there's no fear of any one breaking in, unless it be the Brocks. Policeman ha' promised to keep his eye on them."

George went on to punish the baker, who had succeeded with grievous pangs in handing over three sovereigns, but had failed in his endeavour to part with the fourth. Dyer affirmed Robert had lied, by no means for the first time; but, when George threatened to call the Mudges that they might give evidence upon oath, Dyer admitted it was just possible the missing coin might have slipped through a hole in his pocket; so he called his wife to light a candle and to sweep the floor. The elusive piece of gold, however, had pa.s.sed entirely out of vision, although neither of the Dyers could feel surprised at that; the lady declaring it was wonderful how easily things lost themselves; while her husband said he had done nothing except drop money all his life.

"Very well, Mrs. Dyer," said George. "When you make up my bill for lodgings and bread puddings, just remember that you owe me a pound."

"You wouldn't think of such a thing. You'm too much of a gentleman,"

cried Mrs. Dyer.

"The missus fancies you meant it, sir. She ain't very humorous,"

explained the baker.

George had a trick of nodding after supper, and that evening he did not wake until it was nearly time to sleep more seriously. Remembering that Bessie would be sitting up to surrender the keys, he hurried out; but when he entered Windward House modestly by the back door--hoping to overhear some sc.r.a.ps of conversation--the house appeared deserted, until he pushed open the kitchen door, to discover the Wallower in Wealth sipping a cup of something hot beside the fire.