That Abel Fletcher was not quite himself was proved by the fact that his unlighted pipe lay on the table, and his afternoon tankard of ale sank from foam to flatness untouched.
He first addressed Jael.

"Woman, was it thee who cooked the dinner to-day ?" She gave a dignified affirmative.
"Thee must give us no more such dinners.

No cakes, no pastry kickshaws, and only wheaten bread enough for absolute necessity.

Our neighbours shall not say that Abel Fletcher has flour in his mill, and plenty in his house, while there is famine abroad in the land.

So take heed." "I do take heed," answered Jael, staunchly.