Coming to the conclusion at last that two heads were better than one in such a business, he walked on to the mill and sought Mr. Hogg.

"That's what it is," said the miller, as he breathed his suspicions. "I thought all along Lawyer Quince would have the laugh of you. He's wonderful deep. Now, let's go to work cautious like. Try and look as if nothing had happened."

Mr. Rose tried.

"Try agin," said the miller, with some severity. "Get the red out o' your face and let your eyes go back and don't look as though you're going to bite somebody."

Mr. Rose swallowed an angry retort, and with an attempt at careless ease sauntered up the road with the miller to the shoemaker's. Lawyer Quince was still busy, and looked up inquiringly as they passed before him.

"I s'pose," said the diplomatic Mr. Hogg, who was well acquainted with his neighbour's tidy and methodical habits—"I s'pose you couldn't lend me your barrow for half an hour? The wheel's off mine."

Mr. Quince hesitated, and then favoured him with a glance intended to remind him of his scurvy behaviour three days before.

"You can have it," he said at last, rising.

Mr. Hogg pinched his friend in his excitement, and both watched Mr. Quince with bated breath as he took long, slow strides toward the tool-shed. He tried the door and then went into the house, and even before his reappearance both gentlemen knew only too well what was about to happen. Red was all too poor a word to apply to Mr. Rose's countenance as the shoemaker came toward them, feeling in his waist-coat pocket with hooked fingers and thumb, while Mr. Hogg's expressive features were twisted into an appearance of rosy appreciation.

"Did you want the barrow very particular?" inquired the shoemaker, in a regretful voice.

"Very particular," said Mr. Hogg.

Mr. Quince went through the performance of feeling in all his pockets, and then stood meditatively rubbing his chin.

"The door's locked," he said, slowly, "and what I've done with that there key——"

"You open that door," vociferated Mr. Rose, "else I'll break it in. You've got my daughter in that shed and I'm going to have her out."

"Your daughter?" said Mr. Quince, with an air of faint surprise. "What should she be doing in my shed?"

"You let her out," stormed Mr. Rose, trying to push past him.

"Don't trespass on my premises," said Lawyer Quince, interposing his long, gaunt frame. "If you want that door opened you'll have to wait till my boy Ned comes home. I expect he knows where to find the key."

Mr. Rose's hands fell limply by his side and his tongue, turning prudish, refused its office. He turned and stared at Mr. Hogg in silent consternation.

"Never known him to be beaten yet," said that admiring weather-cock.

"Ned's been away three days," said the shoemaker, "but I expect him home soon."

Mr. Rose made a strange noise in his throat and then, accepting his defeat, set off at a rapid pace in the direction of home. In a marvellously short space of time, considering his age and figure, he was seen returning with Ned Quince, flushed and dishevelled, walking by his side.

"Here he is," said the farmer. "Now where's that key?"

Lawyer Quince took his son by the arm and led him into the house, from whence they almost immediately emerged with Ned waving the key.

"I thought it wasn't far," said the sapient Mr. Hogg.

Ned put the key in the lock and flinging the door open revealed Celia Rose, blinking and confused in the sudden sunshine. She drew back as she saw her father and began to cry with considerable fervour.

"How did you get in that shed, miss?" demanded her parent, stamping.