nd puts on his old hat and coat,
and goes down to be scolded by his sweetheart, and led away out of
mischief. Tom hears him say coaxingly, as he walks off,--

"Now doan't 'ee, Rachel! I wouldn't ha' done it, only I wanted summut
to buy 'ee a fairing wi', and I be as vlush o' money as a twod o'
feathers."

"Thee mind what I tells 'ee," rejoins Rachel saucily, "and doan't 'ee
kep blethering about fairings."

Tom resolves in his heart to give Willum the remainder of his two
shillings after the back-swording.

Joe Willis has all the luck to-day. His next bout ends in an easy
victory, while the shepherd has a tough job to break his second head;
and when Joe and the shepherd meet, and the whole circle expect and hope
to see him get a broken crown, the shepherd slips in the first round and
falls against the rails, hurting himself so that the old farmer will not
let him go on, much as he wishes to try; and that impostor Joe (for he
is certainly not the best man) struts and swaggers about the stage the
conquering gamester, though he hasn't had five minutes' really trying
play.

Joe takes the new hat in his hand, and puts the money into it, and then,
as if a thought strikes him, and he doesn't think his victory quite
acknowledged down below, walks to each face of the stage, and looks
down, shaking the money, and chaffing, as how he'll stake hat and money
and another half-sovereign "agin any gamester as hasn't played already."
Cunning Joe! he thus gets rid of Willum and the shepherd, who is quite
fresh again.

No one seems to like the offer, and the umpire is just coming down,
when a queer old hat, something like a doctor of divinity's shovel, is
chucked on to the stage and an elderly, quiet man steps out, who has
been watching the play, saying he should like to cross a stick wi' the
prodigalish young chap.

The crowd cheer, and begin to chaff Joe, who turns up his nose and
swaggers across to the sticks. "Imp'dent old wosbird!" says he; "I'll
break the bald head on un to the truth."

The old boy is very bald, certainly, and the blood will show fast enough
if you can touch him, Joe.

He takes off his long-flapped coat, and stands up in a long-flapped
waistcoat, which Sir Roger de Coverley might have worn when it was new,
picks out a stick, and is ready for Master Joe, who loses no time, but
begins his old game, whack, whack, whack, trying to break down the old
man's guard by sheer strength. But it won't do; he catches e