“The Sergeant!” said Miss Priscilla, “let me see,—­it is now a quarter to six, it should take you about fifteen minutes to the village, that will make it exactly six o’clock.  You will find the Sergeant just sitting down in the chair on the left hand side of the fire-place,—­in the corner,—­at the ‘King’s Head,’ you know.  Not that I have ever seen him there,—­good gracious no! but I—­happen to be—­acquainted with his habits, and he is as regular and precise as his great, big silver watch, and that is the most precise, and regular thing in all the world.  I am glad you are going,” she went on, “because to-day is—­well, a day apart, Mr. Bellew.  You will find the Sergeant at the ’King’s Head,’—­until half past seven.”

“Then I will go to the ‘King’s Head,’” said Bellew.  “And what message do you send him?”

“None,” said Miss Priscilla, laughing and shaking her head,—­“at least,—­you can tell him, if you wish,—­that—­the peaches are riper than ever they were this evening.”

“I won’t forget,” said Bellew, smiling, and went out into the sunshine.  But, crossing the yard, he was met by Adam, who, chuckling still, paused to touch his hat.

“To look at that theer ’all, sir, you wouldn’t never know as there’d ever been any sale at all,—­not no’ow.  Now the only question as worrits me, and as I’m a-axin’ of myself constant is,—­what will Miss Anthea ’ave to say about it?”

“Yes,” said Bellew, “I wonder!” And so he turned, and went away slowly across the fields.

Miss Priscilla had been right,—­Anthea was coming back the longest way round,—­also she was anxious to keep away from Dapplemere as long as possible.  Therefore, despite Small Porges’ exhortations, and Bess’s champing impatience, she held the mare in, permitting her only the slowest of paces, which was a most unusual thing for Anthea to do.  For the most part, too, she drove in silence seemingly deaf to Small Porges’ flow of talk, which was also very unlike in her.  But before her eyes were visions of her dismantled home, in her ears was the roar of voices clamouring for her cherished possessions,—­a sickening roar, broken, now and then, by the hollow tap of the auctioneer’s cruel hammer.  And, each time the clamouring voices rose, she shivered, and every blow of the cruel hammer seemed to fall upon her quivering heart.  Thus, she was unwontedly deaf and unresponsive to Small Porges, who presently fell into a profound gloom, in consequence; and thus, she held in the eager mare who therefore, shied, and fidgeted, and tossed her head indignantly.

But, slowly as they went, they came within sight of the house, at last, with its quaint gables, and many latticed windows, and the blue smoke curling up from its twisted chimneys,—­smiling and placid as though, in all this great world, there were no such thing to be found as—­an auctioneer’s hammer.

And presently they swung into the drive, and drew up in the courtyard.  And there was Adam, waiting to take the mare’s head,—­Adam, as good-natured, and stolid as though there were no abominations called, for want of a worse name,—­sales.