of imposing any check upon his evil ways. He was not,
however, without some stings of conscience; he knew that Jacob Dobbin
was dead--he had even seen his newly-made grave in the churchyard on
Sunday; and he could not blot out from his memory the distress of poor
Jacob when last he saw him alive; moreover, some of the whisperings of
the neighbourhood reached his ears; and all these things made him feel
far from comfortable.

As day after day passed by, James Courtenay felt more and more
miserable: a settled sadness took possession of his mind, varied by fits
of restlessness and passion, and he felt that there was something
hanging over him, although he could not exactly tell what. It was
evident, from the whispers which had reached his ears, that there had
been some dreadful circumstances connected with poor Jacob Dobbin's
death, but he feared to inquire; and so day after day passed in
wretchedness, and there seemed little chance of matters getting any
better.

At length a change came in a very unexpected way. As James Courtenay was
riding along one day, he saw a pair of bantam fowls picking up the corn
about a stack in one of the tenants' yards. The bantams were very
handsome, and he felt a great desire to possess them; so he dismounted,
and seeing the farmer's son hard by, he asked him for how much he would
sell the fowls.

"They're not for sale, master," said the boy; "they belong to my young
sister, and she wouldn't sell those bantams for any money,--there isn't
a cock to match that one in all the country round."

"I'll give a sovereign for them," said James Courtenay.

"No, not ten," answered Jim Meyers.

"Then I'll take them, and no thanks," said the young squire; and so
saying, he flung Jim Meyers the sovereign, and began to hunt the bantams
into a corner of the yard.

"I say," cried Jim, "leave off hunting those bantams, master, or I must
call my father."

"Your father!" cried the young squire; "and pray, who's your father?
You're a pretty fellow to talk about a father; take care I don't bring
my father to you;" and having said this, he made a dart at the cock
bantam, that he had by this time driven into a corner.

"Look here," said Jim, doubling his fists. "You did a bad job, young
master, by Jacob Dobbin; you were the death of him, and I won't have you
the death of my little sister, by, maybe, her fretting herself to death
about these birds, so you look out, and if you touch one of these birds,
co