ck into the middle of the brook, an' we saw he went
round the elber 'thout balkin', an' we walked quite a piece beside of
him to set him on his ways. When we couldn't see no more, we went home
by the high road, because we knowed the brook 'u'd be out acrost the
medders, an' we wasn't goin' to hunt for Jim's little rotten old bridge
in that dark--an' rainin' Heavens' hard, too. I was middlin' pleased to
see light an' vittles again when we got home. Jim he pressed me to come
insides for a drink. He don't drink in a generality, but he was rid of
all his troubles that evenin', d'ye see? "Mother," he ses so soon as the
door ope'd, "have you seen him?" She whips out her slate an' writes
down--"No." "Oh, no," ses Jim. "You don't get out of it that way,
mother. I lay you _have_ seen him, an' I lay he's bested you for all
your talk, same as he bested me. Make a clean breast of it, mother," he
ses. "He got round you too." She was goin' for the slate again, but he
stops her. "It's all right, mother," he ses. "I've seen him sense you
have, an' he won't trouble us no more." The old lady looks up quick as a
robin, an' she writes, "Did he say so?" "No," ses Jim, laughin'. "He
didn't say so. That's how I know. But he bested _you_, mother. You can't
have it in at _me_ for bein' soft-hearted. You're twice as
tender-hearted as what I be. Look!" he ses, an' he shows her the two
sovereigns. "Put 'em away where they belong," he ses. "He won't never
come for no more; an' now we'll have our drink," he ses, "for we've
earned it."

'Nature-ally they weren't goin' to let me see where they kep' their
monies. She went upstairs with it--for the whisky.'

'I never knowed Jim was a drinkin' man--in his own house, like,' said
Jabez.

'No more he isn't; but what he takes he likes good. He won't tech no
publican's hogwash acrost the bar. Four shillin's he paid for that
bottle o' whisky. I know, because when the old lady brought it down
there wasn't more'n jest a liddle few dreenin's an' dregs in it. Nothin'
to set before neighbours, I do assure you.'

'"Why, 'twas half full last week, mother," he ses. "You don't mean," he
ses, "you've given him all that as well? It's two shillin's worth," he
ses. (That's how I knowed he paid four.) "Well, well, mother, you be too
tender-'carted to live. But I don't grudge it to him," he ses. "I don't
grudge him nothin' he can keep." So, 'cardenly, we drinked up what
little sup was left.'

'An' what come to Mary's L