hat waved over the thatched
roof, seemed to bless and protect it. On a winter's evening, when
Bumpkin was sitting in one corner smoking his long pipe, Mrs. Bumpkin
darning her stockings, and Joe on the other side looking into the blazing
fire, while the old Collie stretched himself in a snug corner beside his
master, it represented a scene of comfort almost as perfect as rustic
human nature was capable of enjoying. And when the wind blew through the
branches of the elm over the roof, it was like music, played on purpose
to heighten the enjoyment. Comfort, thou art at the evening fireside of
a farm-house, if anywhere!

You should have seen Tim, when an unusual sound disturbed the harmony of
this peaceful fireside. He growled first as he lay with his head resting
between his paws, and just turned up his eyes to his master for approval.
Then, if that warning was not sufficient, he rose and barked
vociferously. Possessed, I believe, of more insight than Bumpkin, he got
into the most tremendous state of excitement whensoever anyone came from
Prigg's, and he cordially hated Prigg. But most of all was he angry when
"the man" came. There was no keeping him quiet. I wonder if dogs know
more about Bills of Sale than farmers. I am aware that some farmers know
a good deal about them; and when they read this story, many of them will
accuse me of being too personal; but Tim was a dog of strong prejudices,
and I am sure he had a prejudice against money-lenders.

As the persons I have mentioned were thus sitting on this dreary evening
in the month of November, suddenly, Tim sprang from his recumbent
position, and barked furiously.

"Down, Tim! down, Tim!" said the farmer; "what be this, I wonder!"

"Tim, Tim," said Mrs. Bumpkin, "down, Tim! hold thee noise, I tell ee."

"Good Tim!" said Joe; he also had an instinct.

"I'll goo and see what it be," said Mrs. Bumpkin; "whoever can come here
at this time o' night! it be summat, Tom." And she put down her
stockings, and lighting a candle went to the front door, whereat there
was a loud knocking. Tim jumped and flew and thrust his nose down to the
bottom of the door long before Mrs. Bumpkin could get there.

"Quiet, Tim! I tell thee; who be there?"

"From Mr. Prigg's," answered a voice.

This was enough for Tim; the name of Prigg made him furious.

"Somebody from Mr. Prigg, Tom."

"Wull, let un in, Nance; bless thee soul, let un in; may be the case be
settled. I hop