if you please, than that one of your ancestors in the last century—Mr. Cuthbert Frush, it would seem, by name—was hanged.'
They never knew afterwards which of the two had first found composure—found even dignity—to respond. 'And pray, Mr. Patten, for what?'
'Ah, that's just what I don't yet get hold of. But if you don't mind my digging away'—and the vicar's bushy, jolly brows turned from one of the ladies to the other—'I think I can run it to earth. They hanged, in those days, you know,' he added as if he had seen something in their faces, 'for almost any trifle!'
'Oh, I hope it wasn't for a trifle!' Miss Susan strangely tittered.
'Yes, of course one would like that, while he was about it—well, it had been, as they say,' Mr. Patten laughed, 'rather for a sheep than for a lamb!'
'Did they hang at that time for a sheep?' Miss Amy wonderingly asked.
It made their friend laugh again. 'The question's whether he did! But we'll find out. Upon my word, you know, I quite want to myself. I'm awfully busy, but I think I can promise you that you shall hear. You don't mind?' he insisted.
'I think we could bear anything, said Miss Amy.
Miss Susan gazed at her, on this, as for reference and appeal. 'And what is he, after all, at this time of day, to us?'
Her kinswoman, meeting the eyeglass fixedly, spoke with gravity. 'Oh, an ancestor's always an ancestor.'
'Well said and well felt, dear lady!' the vicar declared. 'Whatever they may have done———'
'It isn't every one,' Miss Amy replied, 'that has them to be ashamed of.'
'And we're not ashamed yet! Miss Frush jerked out.
'Let me promise you then that you shan't be. Only, for I am busy,' said Mr. Patten, 'give me time.'
