the rights on it
nayther--no, that it ain't. The labourin' man ee's glad enough to get a
hare or a rabbit for 'is eatin'--but there's more in it nor that, miss.
Ee's allus in the fields, that's where it is--ee can't help seein' the
hares and the rabbits a-comin' in and out o' the woods, if it were iver
so. Ee knows ivery run ov ivery one on 'em; if a hare's started furthest
corner o' t' field, he can tell yer whar she'll git in by, because he's
allus there, you see, miss, an' it's the only thing he's got to take his
mind off like. And then he sets a snare or two--an' ee gits very sharp
at settin' on 'em--an' ee'll go out nights for the sport of it. Ther
isn't many things _ee's_ got to liven him up; an' ee takes 'is chances
o' goin' to jail--it's wuth it, ee thinks."

The old man's hands on his stick shook more and more visibly. Bygones of
his youth had come back to him.

"Oh, I know! I know!" cried Marcella, with an accent half of
indignation, half of despair. "It's the whole wretched system. It spoils
those who've got, and those who haven't got. And there'll be no mending
it till the _people_ get the land back again, and till the rights on it
are common to all."

"My! she do speak up, don't she?" said Mrs. Jellison, grinning again at
her companions. Then, stooping forward with one of her wild movements,
she caught Marcella's arm--"I'd like to hear yer tell that to Lord
Maxwell, miss. I likes a roompus, I do."

Marcella flushed and laughed.

"I wouldn't mind saying that or anything else to Lord Maxwell," she said
proudly. "I'm not ashamed of anything I think."

"No, I'll bet you ain't," said Mrs. Jellison, withdrawing her hand. "Now
then, Patton, you say what _you_ thinks. You ain't got no vote now
you're in the parish houses--I minds that. The quality don't trouble
_you_ at 'lection times. This yoong man, Muster Wharton, as is goin'
round so free, promisin' yer the sun out o' the sky, iv yer'll only vote
for 'im, so th' men say--_ee_ don't coom an' set down along o' you an'
me, an' cocker of us up as ee do Joe Simmons or Jim Hurd here. But that
don't matter. Yur thinkin's yur own, anyway."

But she nudged him in vain. Patton had suddenly run down, and there was
no more to be got out of him.

Not only had nerves and speech failed him as they were wont, but in his
cloudy soul there had risen, even while Marcella was speaking, the
inevitable suspicion which dogs the relations of the poor towards the
richer clas