watch where I went and
to ask themselves why. I had been marked by them long before I met Bates
in the wood that night. They put me in prison, and it did not do me any
good. It made me angry. I was a nice, well-conducted prisoner though,
for the people who had to look after me had no responsibility in the
matter. They did not make the laws, they were merely getting a living. I
was principally angry with myself, because I had allowed another man to
beat me. I made up my mind as soon as I got out of prison to take to the
road again. I thought it would be better for my health if I could smell
the air of a different county. It is a solemn fact that prison is not
good for your health or strength. When I came out I was not the man that
I had been.

And then I found out something which changed my mind. While I was in
prison, Bates went after my girl and made love to her. That settled it.
I had got to finish with Bates before I could go on.

I went to Mrs Crewe's cottage by night. When a man who has been in
prison walks about in a small village in the daytime, remarks are likely
to be made. If remarks were made, I was likely to take notice of them,
and I did not want to get into trouble again. I made up my mind that
Bates should be my next trouble. So, as I say, I went to Mrs Crewe by
night, to do the fair thing by her. I told her that I must find a
different room, if I had a room at all; for if old White-whiskers found
that she was keeping the convicted poacher on, she would lose her
cottage. "So, Mrs Crewe," I said, "I have come to say good-bye to you
and Elsie."

Elsie is Mrs Crewe's little girl--a pretty kid of ten, but with bad
health. It was not a good cottage for a sick child, and the food was not
good enough for her, and the doctor was not good enough. He charged Mrs
Crewe nothing--I'll say that for him--but it was as much as he was
worth. Mrs Crewe's other daughter, Lizzie, was eight years older and in
service in London.

Mrs Crewe heard all I had to say, but it made no effect upon her. She
said that she had always paid her rent and conducted herself
respectably, and that old White-whiskers dared not put her out, and that
if he did put her out she would get somebody to write to the London
newspapers about it. She had a great belief in the London newspapers.
She said, moreover, that she took people as she found them, and that I
had always treated her and Elsie well. That was true enough. If Elsie
did not get that