“Are you going too?” looking at his bandaged head.

“No, miss,” with a resigned air.  “Master says I’m to go ’ome and ’ave a good night’s rest—­that is if so be as I can get to sleep.”

“But who is going to drive father?” interrupted Kitty.

“Master said as ’ow he’d drive hisself.”

Kitty remembered the weary look on her father’s face, the sleepless night he had had, the long, busy day.  “Jabez,” she said with quiet firmness, “I am going to drive father; then perhaps he will be able to sleep a little in the carriage.  Don’t say anything to him, but I’ll be in the carriage when you drive it round for him, and then I expect he will let me go.”

Jabez looked dubiously first at the sky and then at Kitty.

“I can drive; you know I can,” she said eagerly.  “Now don’t be nasty, Jabez; we have got trouble enough as it is.”

“’Tis my belief there’s a nasty storm brewing—­”

“I love a storm, especially when I am driving through it.”

“I was putting in the old mare on purpose, ’cause she stands thunder and lightning better than what Billy does, but—­”

“Jabez, you may say what you like, but I am going, unless father stops me; so don’t bother to say any more about it.  I know the way, and father trusts me to drive.”

“I wasn’t going against ’ee, Miss Kitty.  If you’m set on it you’m set on it, and ’tisn’t no manner of use for me to talk.”

Dan and the others came sauntering down from the garden again.  “Jabez, you might give me the nail out of that bit of wood,” said Dan; “every half-ounce counts, and I want to get enough iron to sell.”

Jabez shook his head knowingly.  He would rather not have had any further reference made to the affair, for he was really devoted to them all, and was ashamed of his part in it.  He always made a point, though, of seeming to distrust them; he thought it safer.

“Ah, I ain’t so sure,” he began, “that it’d be wise of me to let ’ee ’ave it.  I dunno what more ’arm you mightn’t be doing with it.”

“We couldn’t do more harm than you have done already,” snapped Dan.  “You’ve nailed Aunt Pike fast to the house with it, and it will take more than we can do to get her away again.”

“What be saying of, sir?” asked Jabez, bewildered, and suddenly realizing that their sombre faces and manner meant something more than usual.  “Mrs. Pike—­”

“Father is going to send and ask Aunt Pike to live here, and it’s your fault,” said Betty concisely.  “It was your complaining about Dan that did it.”

Jabez gasped.  He knew the lady well, and preserved a vivid recollection of her former visit.  “She hain’t a-coming visiting here again, is she, sur?” he groaned.

“Visiting!  It’s much worse than that, a thousand times worse.  She is coming here for good, to manage all of us—­and you too!” they gasped.

Jabez dropped helpless on to an upturned bucket, the picture of hopeless dejection.  “There won’t be no peace in life no more,” he said, “and I shan’t be allowed to show my nose in the kitchen.  I’d have had my old ’ead scat abroad every day of my life and never have told rather than I’d have helped to do this.  Was it really me telling on ’ee, sur, that made the master settle it so?”