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The immediate result of Taffendale's visit of advice and suggestion was that Perris suddenly turned over a new leaf and began to mend his ways. He kicked Pippany Webster clear of Cherry-trees, and engaged a more capable man who happened to be out of work at the time. He forswore the Dancing Bear and all other hostelries, and he never went to market unless it was really necessary that he should go there, nor stayed longer in the market-town than his business demanded. He was up early, and he worked hard, and Rhoda had no fault to find with him. He followed out Taffendale's hints: Cherry-trees began to look prosperous. The under-steward reported to his superior that new stock had been put on the farm, and that Perris appeared to be doing well; the neighbouring farmers, looking over the hedges as they rode by, saw that the land was being properly treated, and came to the conclusion that its tenant had got a bit of money from somewhere. But nobody suspected Taffendale of generosity, and only Perris and his wife knew whence this help had come.

"I'm sure we owt to feel deeply obligated to Mestur Taffendale, Rhoda, my lass," Perris would observe, as he sat smoking his pipe at his hearth of a night. "He just come i' the nick of time, as it weer. Now, ye see, my lass, all them there bits o' good advice as he gev' me have all turned out well, and ye'll see 'at there 'll be no need for us to go to him nor to any other for help about t' next half-year's rent. He's what I call a reight friend, is yon there man, and I hope ye feel as grateful to him as what I do, my lass."

And Rhoda always replied that she felt very much obliged to Mr. Taffendale, and that it was very kind of him to take so much interest in them. She was more than surprised that Perris had developed such a strong line of good purpose and endeavour, and sometimes she found herself looking at him wonderingly, and speculating as to whether he was not a better man than she thought him. All his thought and attention was now given to his work; he appeared to have no time for anything else, and it was an easy matter to hoodwink and deceive him. He never asked questions of his wife when she seemed to be unduly late home from the chapel; he was, in fact, usually fast asleep in bed when Rhoda came in from her meetings with Taffendale, and he had forgotten by next morning whether she had been out or not. The new interest in his farm which Taffendale's friendly intervention had given him had driven all other matters out of Perris's mind; his one idea now was to make things pay, and Rhoda found that, instead of being obliged to goad him to work, she had nothing to do but to stand by and see him ceaselessly labouring. She and Taffendale looked on at Perris's new line of conduct from a detached point of view; it suited them both that his attention was fully occupied; careful to the finest degree about their assignations, they believed that the secret between them was their own, and that they were safe from discovery. Taffendale never came to the little farmstead; now and then, riding past, he exchanged a few words with Perris over the top of the hedgerow; sometimes he talked to husband and wife together at the orchard gate: it was his idea to keep the world from knowing that he was in any way mixed up with them. The folk of the village in the valley, who rarely went up the hillside to the uplands, knew nothing of the links between the rich man at the Limepits and the Penises of the Cherry-trees.

Pippany Webster kept his knowledge of the love affairs of Mr. Taffendale and Mrs. Perris to himself during the summer that followed his summary dismissal from Perris's employment. He had got another regular job; he could always add a half-sovereign to his week's wages by his transactions with the itinerant fish-vendor, and there seemed to be no immediate reason for turning his knowledge to account. At that time, indeed, being in full feather as regards money, he had no idea of profiting pecuniarly by that knowledge: his great idea was to revenge himself on Rhoda. He became an adept in tracking her; many a night when she went away from the choir-practice he followed her to lonely parts of the adjacent woods, and was witness to her meetings with Taffendale, and he chuckled to himself as he thought of the time when he would expose her treachery to Perris and let the small world around them know what manner of woman she was.

"It'll be a nice come-down for mi lady, will that theer!" he mused. "An' a bonny come-up for t' Methodisses to hear 'at their fine leadin' singer i' t' choyer-pen's carryin' on wi' Taffendale same as if shoo wor one o' them leet wimmen 'at they talk about. Nobbut wait a bit, mi lass, and I'll mak' ye as ye'll repent takkin' that bit o' brass out o' my pocket—I will so!"

Although he told her nothing in return, Pippany extracted all the news that he could get from Tibby Graddige. He heard of the altered condition of things at Cherry-trees; of the reformation of Perris himself; of the growing prosperity which was manifesting itself in various ways. And his ferret-like wits began to put two and two together; he suddenly saw where the help had come from, and he developed long fits of thinking and scheming, all with a view to Mrs. Perris's discomfiture. But he would bide his time—yon there Taffendale, he reminded himself, had said, when he counselled Perris to kick him out: that he, Pippany, couldn't get far away—no, and neither could Taffendale nor Mrs. Perris get far away. He would wait—but he would be down on them when the right time came.

It was Tibby Graddige who brought Pippany news which made him think that possibly the right time had come. Entering his cottage one evening towards the end of that summer, in order to put things to rights, and incidentally to partake of the drop of rum to which its lord and master was always ready to treat her, she revealed a countenance suggestive of important tidings.

"It wodn't surprise me to hear 'at Mestur Perris is goin' to come into a bit o' money," she observed.

"Wodn't it?" said Pippany. "Aw! An' wheer might it be comin' fro', like?"

Mrs. Graddige wiped her lips with the edge of her apron, and Pippany pushed the rum bottle over to her, and motioned her to the cracked tea-cup out of which she usually took her refreshment.

"This afternoon as ever were," said Mrs. Graddige, having tasted her drink and made a face over it, me and Mistress Perris bein' engaged in hingin' out the clothes i' that theer orchard wheer you come by your accident—and a rare mercy it were as you didn't meet wi' yer death, as I've remarked many a time and oft, and shall agen—theer come a tallygrapht, which I never remember nowt o' t' sort ever comin' theer afore while I've known that place, and of course gev' me t' spasms i' mi insides. Mestur Perris, he were down t' little field t'other side o' t' orchard, a-talkin' to Mestur Taffendale over t' hedge top, so Mistress Perris, she opened it.—Mercy on us V she says, just like that beer. "Mercy on us, Mestur Perris's 'Uncle George is dead!'"

"Who's his Uncle George?" asked Pippany.

"His Uncle George were a draper, at Fenford. away there i' t' low country, and had money, bi what I heard," answered Tibby Graddige. "I've heerd speyk of him afore. Howsomiver, he were dead, accordin' to t' tallygrapht, and Mistress Perris she waved t' paper to Mestur Perris to come, and Mestur Taffendale, he rode his horse up t' hedgeside wi' him. Yer Uncle George is dead, and they want you to go at once,' says Mistress Perris. Ye'd better change yer things and set off,' she says. 'An' you won't lose no time,' she says, ''cause there's none so many trains that way, and it's gettin' on for five now, and the station's four mile off.' Here, I'll tell you what,' says Mestur Taffendale, friendly like, 'I'll lend yer my horse, Perris, and ye can leave him at t' inn at Somerleigh station, and I'll send one o' my men over for him to-night.' 'Why, thankin' you kindly, Mestur Taffendale,' says Mestur Perris."

"'Aye,' he says, 'I'd best go,' he says. 'I shouldn't wonder if mi Uncle George hes left me a bit o' money,' he says.—He allus promised 'at he wod,' he says.

"'Why, then, be off and see after it,' says Mestur Taffendale, and he rode t' horse into t' orchard, and gat off it, and they all then went into t' house. An' i' less than a quarter of an hour Mestur Perris rode off on Mestur Taffendale's horse, to go and fetch his fortune."

"Did it say owt about t' fortune i' t' tallygrapht?" inquired Pippany.

"Why, no, not as Mistress Perris read it out," replied Mrs. Graddige. "But, of course, theer's allus a fortune or summat o' that sort when folks sends tallygraphts. An' varry lucky it were, as I said to Mistress Perris, 'at Mestur Taffendale happened to be theer to gi' t' poor man a lift on his horse. It 'ud ha' been dowly wark, walkin' four mile to t' station wi' a load o' grief on yer back, and wonderin' all t' way how much money t' dead man had left yer."

"Aye, it wod so!" agreed Pippany. "He'd feel t' matter less when he wor mounted on hossback. An' so Mestur Taffendale 'ud hey to walk home on his own feet, like?"

"Why, it's none so far fro' t' Cherry-trees to t' Limepits," observed Tibby Graddige. "Aye, he went his ways when Mestur Perris had ridden off. 'I hope yer husband 'll hey' some good news, Mrs Perris,' he says, when he went away. 'An' bring home a handsome fortun',' he says, laughin'—that's what he said, did Mestur Taffendale."

"He'll hev' to stop till t' buryin's over," said Pippany. "They niver part wi' a dead man's brass till t' corpse is i' t' grave—that's t' law, so they tell me. Them 'at's appointed to look after t' corpse's money niver pays it out until all's overed and done wi'—t' way o' buryin'."

"Eh, an' I wonder what t' reason o' that is?" inquired Tibby Graddige. "Theer mun be a reason, of course."

"It's so 'at t' dead body can't hear what t' relations says about it when they hev' t' brass 'livered up to 'em," replied Pippany. "Theer's allus some on 'em 'at isn't satisfied wi' what they receive, an' then they say foul things about t' dead corpse, and, of course, it wodn't be reight for it to hear owt said agean it, so they allus mak' away wi' it afore sham' t' brass out—that's t' law, as they call it. So Mestur Perris 'll be away for a day or two, like?"

"Aye, and she'll be left alone all by hersen i' that lonely house," answered Mrs. Graddige. "I made offer to go and stop wi' her, but she said she were none afraid."

"Shoo's afraid o' nowt, isn't that theer," observed Pippany. "Shoo's as strong as onny man, shoo is. And I reckon theer's nowt 'at's worth steylin' t' place now, whativer there may be when Mr. Perris brings his Uncle George's fortune back wi' him."

But whether there was anything that was worth stealing or not at Cherry-trees, Pippany Webster could not refrain from visiting the little farmstead that night. He sat by his own fireside for a long time after Mrs. Graddige had finished her charing work, drunk her second drop of comfort, and gone away with a present of a couple of rabbits, and when he at last turned out his lights, damped his fire, and locked up the front door it was only to let himself out at a back window and to slink away in the darkness. By various quiet and devious ways he made his way up the hillside, and to the outbuildings at Cherry-trees. The clock in the church tower was striking ten when he looked cautiously round the corner of the barn and saw that a light was still burning in the house: he saw, also, that it did not proceed from the house-place, but from the parlour, a room which, according to his experience of them, the Perrises scarcely ever used.

Knowing every nook and corner of the premises, Pippany had no difficulty in finding a convenient vantage-point in the outbuildings from whence to keep observation on the house. Taking advantage of the darkness he stole up the steps of the granary, and took up his post at a slatted window which commanded the door. The night was warm, and Pippany was well accustomed to long vigils in the woods. He had an instinctive notion that he would be rewarded for his trouble in spying upon Mrs. Perris. and he was prepared to keep watch until the coming of the morning would make it impossible for him to remain longer in his hiding-place. But he had not been very long in the granary when he heard footsteps on the road outside, followed by the opening and shutting of the orchard gate. A moment later the figure of a man covered the lighted window, and Pippany hugged himself with joy.

"Yon's Taffendale!" he muttered to himself. "Gow, I thowt I should see summat!"

For a time he was half-minded to hasten down the hill, to wake Tibby Graddige from her slumbers, and to hurry her back with him, and thus to provide a further witness of Mrs. Perris's misdoings. But on second consideration he thought it best to keep his knowledge to himself, for he was as yet uncertain as to what use he should put it. With a patience which had been steadily perfected by his poaching habits, he settled down to watch; if it were necessary, he said to himself, he would watch throughout the night, for he was determined not to leave his post until Taffendale had gone away from Cherry-trees.

"I wonder what Perris 'ud say if he see'd a leet i' t' best parlour?" he mused. "Him an' her niver sits i' t' best parlour—t' house-place is good enoo for them when they're by their two sens. I reckon shoo thinks 'at it wodn't do for a gentleman like Taffendale to sit hissen down i' t' house-place—that's what shoo's gotten t' best parlour ready for."

In the silence and darkness of the granary Pippany waited while the slow hours passed. Now and then a rat scampered across the floor behind him; sometimes the horses in the stables stamped their feet; at intervals an owl in the neighbouring woods hooted dolefully across the sleeping land, eleven and twelve and one and two struck from the church clock at the further end of the village. And just as the first grey of the approaching day stole across the line of the eastern world the watcher's long vigil came to its end—Taffendale left the house and went quietly away through the orchard. With equal quietness and precaution Pippany quitted his post and went home.