ould undo all the
penance of those last six months. He therefore resolved wisely in the
present instance to avoid altercation as far as possible.

"Well, sir, and what have you got to say for yourself? Where have you
been?" demanded Jonah, in tones of lofty bitterness.

"I have just taken Rosher home. After standing four hours on the form
he wasn't fit to walk himself."

"Oh!" snorted Jonah, nearly bursting with indignation; "and pray how--"

"Excuse me, Trimble. If you and Mrs Trimble wish me to leave, I'll do
so. If not, don't talk to me. I don't want it."

Poor Jonah nearly had a fit. He, head man of Galloway House, knowing
what he did, to be spoken to like this by a stuck-up--murderer!

He had prepared a scene, and had counted on coming to an understanding
then and there. And lo and behold! before he had well opened his mouth,
he had been ordered to shut it by the very being whom he had at his
mercy. It passed Jonah's comprehension.

Jeffreys waited a minute to give him a chance of accepting his former
alternative. Then, concluding he had decided on the latter, he betook
himself to his own room and remained there.

Jonah, as soon as he could recover himself sufficiently to think at all,
made up his mind that, come what would, he had had enough of this sort
of life. With which conviction he crushed his hat on his head, and
sallied forth into the open air.

His feet almost instinctively turned in the direction of Ash Lane; but
on this occasion they went past the fatal bank and brought their owner
to a halt at the door of Ash Cottage.

"Is Mr Rosher at home?" inquired he of the servant.

Mr Rosher was at home--a jovial, well-to-do farmer, with a hearty
Yorkshire voice and a good-humoured grin on his broad face.

"Well, lad, what is't?" he asked, as Trimble, hat in hand, was shown
into the little parlour. "Man, it's the little school-maister."

"Yes, Mr Rosher," said Trimble; "I should like five minutes' talk with
you if you can spare the time."

"Blaze away, lad. A've nothin' else to do."

"I'm rather anxious about your two dear little boys," began Trimble.

"Thee needn't be that; they're tight lads, and learn quite fast enough."

"It's not that, Mr Rosher, though I hope they do justice to the pains
we take with them."

"They nearly killed their mother t'other day on the tricycle," said Mr
Rosher, laughing like a young bull. "Was't thee or t'other young chap
came to mend t'auld bone-s