Daphne turned upon him, wide-eyed and horror-struck.
"You mean to say," she gasped, "that you are going to dig for coals in Tinkler's Den?"
"I can't tell you, until——"
Apollyon paused. A small hand was resting on his sleeve, and a very small voice said beseechingly—
"Don't—please!"
"Very well, then: I won't," he said, in a matter-of-fact fashion; and they resumed their walk.
"I hope you haven't been bored," said Daphne, the hostess in her rising to the surface as the shadow of the Rectory fell upon her once more. "Your ears must be simply aching, but it's such a treat to talk to any one who knows about things. I never get the chance to ask advice. I usually have to give it. Dad and the boys are so helpless, bless them!"
They were passing through the wicket-gate. Daphne suddenly paused, and looked up at her guest with more mischief in her eyes than her brothers and sisters would have given her credit for.
"It's queer," she mused, "that you should sell coals. We thought you shovelled them!"