"Catch any on 'em not doin what master tells them!" "Then did John see what happened ?" "No, m'm--because master sent him to see if the chap'd come in at t' lodge gates, or where, and when he got back he was gone, blanket an' all, an' master with him." "Blanket and all!" repeated Rachel.

"Do you mean to say he had the impudence to bring a blanket with him ?" "And slept in it!" cried her excited little maid.

"John says he found him tucked up in a corner of the lawn, out of the wind, behind some o' them shrubs, sound asleep, and lapped round and round in his blue banket from head to heel." Rachel saw her own face change in the glass; but she only asked one more question, and that with a smile.
"Did John say it was a blue blanket, Harris, or did your own imagination supply the color ?" "He said it, m'm; faded blue." "And pray when did you see John to hear all this ?" demanded Rachel, suddenly remembering her responsibility as mistress of this young daughter of the soil.
"Deary me, m'm," responded the ingenuous Harris, "I didn't see him, not more than any of the others; he just comed to t' window of t' servants' hall, as we were having our breakfasts, and he told us all at once.

He was that full of it, was John!" Rachel asked no more questions; but she was not altogether sorry that the matter had already become one of common gossip throughout the house.
Meanwhile she made no allusion to it at breakfast, but her observation had been quickened by the events of the morning, and thus it was that she noticed and recognized the narrow blue book which was too long for her husband's breast-pocket, and would show itself as he stooped over his coffee.

It was his check-book, and Rachel had not seen it since their travels.
That afternoon a not infrequent visitor arrived on his bicycle, to which was tied a bouquet of glorious roses instead of a lamp; this was Charles Langholm, the novelist, who had come to live in Delverton, over two hundred miles from his life-long haunts and the literary market-place, chiefly because upon a happy-go-lucky tour through the district he had chanced upon what he never tired of calling "the ideal rose-covered cottage of my dreams," though also for other reasons unknown in Yorkshire.