tters, Joe Harris,"
answered his wife moodily. "It ud be dirty money that ud buy them. I
don't like this business, I tell you agin, as I telled you afore, an'
there'll no good come o't. Let the little uns go, Joe," she urged in
pleading tones. "For all that you purtend the other way, you know well
that there's folks breakin' their hearts about them somewhere. Sen' the
dwarf back wi' them to Firdale; they'll know their own way from there.
An' as for Bambo--why, if he never turns up agin he'll be no loss. He's
dyin'; you can see that wi' half an eye. His cough's 'nuff to give a
body the shivers."

"Are you mad, woman, that you bid me throw away the best chance ever I
had? An' the dwarf too! Why, do you want to ruin us all at one sweep?"
growled Joe furiously.

"I don't want to ruin you, an' well you knows it," said Moll soothingly;
"but I'm kin' o' tired o' livin' from day to day in dread o' you bein'
followed an' took up an' put in prison. For it'll come to that, or
worse, Joe, mark my words!" she added oracularly. "'The fox runs long,
but he's caught at last,'" she quoted solemnly, "an' I never felt so
downright sure o't afore. I think it's the look o' them children's eyes,
the little lass in partik'ler," added the woman, remembering with a
queer thrill at her heart Joan's kneeling baby form, the folded hands,
the lisping prayer, the unexpected kiss. "She makes me wish I was a
better woman," said Moll in a broken voice, softly sobbing the while.

Joe made no reply whatever. Possibly he was so vastly astonished at his
wife's strange mood that his usual ready flow of forcible argument for
once had failed him.

"Won't you let them go, Joe? do ee now," Moll resumed, in her most
persuasive tones. "An' when you return the van, send Tonio off on his
own hook too; the lad eats more'n he earns. An' sell Bruno; he's a
vicious brute--nothin' but an encumbrance. You couldn't do much wi' him
anyhow, once Bambo's out o' the road. The beast has a grudge agin you,
for the way you whip him, I expect. He'll do you an injury one o' these
days if you don't have a care! Then when we've only ourselves to think
o', you an' me'll make a nice, comfortable livin' easy--you an' me, an'
Puck an' the organ, wi' no fear o' the beaks or the jyle,
or--or--anythin'. My! it makes me young agin thinkin' o' the fine times
we'd have."

"Shut up, will you?" roared Mr. Harris, with a savage stamp of his huge
foot, which set Bruno to growl ominously, an