se must know. D'you understand?'

'I'm all theer, missus,' responded Ichabod.

'Then there's the note, an' there's the shillin'. An' if you're back in
two hours you shall have a pint o' beer.' Ichabod took the note and the
shilling, and clattered off with a ludicrous show of despatch, and
the old lady returned to her sitting-room to await the result of his
message. It came in less than the appointed time, and disappointed her
terribly. Ichabod had ascertained that Dick had started half an hour
before his arrival at the farm for Birmingham, and would only return
to-morrow night to sleep and take away his luggage on the following
morning.

'And you come to me w' a message like that, y' ode gone-off!' said
the exasperated old woman. 'You might ha' caught him up i' the time as
you've wasted comin' back here.'

'Caught him up,' said Ichabod, with a glance at his legs. 'Yis, likely,
like a cow might ketch a race-hoss. I'm a gay fine figure, missus, to
ketch up the best walker i' the country-side.'

Mrs. Jenny was a woman, and therefore to offer her reason as an antidote
to unreasoning anger was merely to heap fuel on flame.

'Ah!' she said, reasonably enraged with the whole masculine half of her
species,' you're like the rest on 'em.'

'Then I'm sorry for the rest on 'em,' said Ichabod, 'whoever they may
be.' Here Mrs. Jenny shut the door upon him, leaving him in the street,
and retired to her sitting-room. But with beer to be gained by boldness,
Ichabod was leonine in courage. He knocked, and the summons brought
the old lady to the door again. Ichabod spoke no word, but writhed
his twisted features into a grin which expressed at once humorous
deprecation and expectancy, and rabbed the back of his veiny hand across
his bristly lips.

'Go round to the brewus,' said Mrs. Jenny; 'you'll find the maid there.
It's all you're fit for, ye guzzlin' old idiot.'

Ichabod retired, elate.

'Her tongue's a stinger; but, Lord bless thee, Ichabod, her bark's a
long sight worse than her bite. An' her beer's main good.'

Mrs. Jenny, meanwhile, retired to the sitting-room, and there sat
immersed in gloom. Things looked black for her young proteges, and fate
was against them. With that curious interest in familiar trifles which
comes with any fit of hopelessness or despondency, she sat looking at
the furniture of the room and the pictures which decorated the walls.
Among these latter was a work of her own hands, her masterpiece, a