ng here."

Then he turned to Calvin Oke, who lay in his chair like a limp sack,
slowly recovering from his emotions at hearing the bullets whiz over his
head.

"When I assure you that I carry these weapons always about me, you will
hardly need to be warned against interfering with me again. The first
man that meddles, I'll shoot like a rabbit--by the Lord Harry, I will!
You hear?"

He slipped the pistols into his pocket, pulled out two crown pieces, and
tossed them to Prudy.

"That'll pay for the damage, I daresay." So, turning on his heel, he
marched out, leaving them in the firelight. The crowd in the passage
fell back to right and left, and in a moment more he had disappeared
into the black drizzle outside.

But the tradition of his feat survives, and the six holes in Prudy's
panel still bear witness to its truth.

CHAPTER VIII.

YOUNG ZEB SELLS HIS SOUL.

These things were reported to Young Zeb as he sat in his cottage, up the
coombe, and nursed his pain. He was a simple youth, and took life in
earnest, being very slow to catch fire, but burning consumedly when once
ignited. Also he was sincere as the day, and had been treacherously
used. So he raged at heart, and (for pride made him shun the public
eye) he sat at home and raged--the worst possible cure for love, which
goes out only by open-air treatment. From time to time his father,
Uncle Issy, and Elias Sweetland sat around him and administered comfort
after the manner of Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar.

"Your cheeks be pale, my son--lily-white, upon my soul. Rise, my son,
an' eat, as the wise king recommended, sayin', 'Stay me wi' flagons,
comfort me wi' yapples, for I be sick o' love.' A wise word that."

"Shall a man be poured out like water," inquired Uncle Issy, "an' turn
from his vittles, an' pass his prime i' blowin' his nose, an' all for a
woman?"

"I wasn' blowin' my nose," objected Zeb, shortly.

"Well, in black an' white you wasn', but ye gave me that idee."

Young Zeb stared out of the window. Far down the coombe a slice of blue
sea closed the prospect, and the tan sails of a small lugger were
visible there, rounding the point to the westward. He watched her
moodily until she passed out of sight, and turned to his father.

"To-morrow, did 'ee say?"

"Iss, to-morrow, at eleven i' the forenoon. Jim Lewarne brought me
word."

"Terrible times they be for Jim, I reckon," said Elias Sweetland.
"All yestiddy he was goin' back