he sciences you have learned of me," said the old
warrior. "But that would take you from Shrewsbury, to be sure, and
I should miss our little bouts, Humphrey boy. And when you come to
think of it, a man needn't be the worse lawyer for a passable
dexterity with the small sword."

Mr. Vetch was quite overcome when I set my proposal before him. He
embraced it eagerly, drew out my articles at once, and swore that I
would be his salvation. And as I must needs have somewhere to live,
he insisted on my taking up my abode with him; he had a roomy
house, he said, and I need not occupy Cyrus' chamber unless I
pleased.

"But what about poor old Becky?" I said. "She is really harder hit
by this unlucky affair than I, and 't would break her heart to go
to the poor house."

"Let her come, too," said Mr. Vetch. "My housekeeper is leaving me;
the fates are conspiring in our favor, you see. Let her come and
mother us both, and I will give her twenty pounds a year."

I had as yet broken nothing of my designs to Mistress Pennyquick,
foreseeing trouble in that quarter. It was pitiful to see her, who
had been such a bustling housewife, sitting the greater part of the
day with her hands in her lap, or dabbing the tears from her eyes,
and to hear her melancholy plaints, which grew the more frequent as
the time drew nearer for leaving the old house. After concluding my
arrangement with Mr. Vetch I went back to the farmhouse, flung my
cap into a chair, and, sitting across the corner of the table,
said:

"Only two days more, Becky."

"And what will become of us I don't know," says the old woman.
"'Tis the poor house for me, and water gruel, and I've had my
rasher regular for forty year. And as for you, my poor lamb, never
did I think I'd live to see you put on an apron, and say 'What d'ye
lack, Madam?' to stuck-up folks as'll look on ye as so much dirt."

"What's this talk of aprons?" says I, laughing.

"How can ye laugh?" she says, the tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Beggars can't be choosers, and ye'll have to ask Mr. Huggins to
have pity on ye and take ye into his shop, and ye'll tie up sugar
and coffee for Susan Cludde belike, and--oh, deary me!"

"Nonsense, Becky," says I. "I shan't have that pleasure. I'm going
to join Mr. Vetch."

"What!" she shrieks.

"'Tis true. Mr. Vetch has given me my articles, and instead of
tying up coffee and sugar I shall tie deeds and conveyances and
become a most respectable lawyer."

"Oh! 'tw