sleep by those who have no wish to bid me a good morrow."

Seeing that Mehetabel observed him he said, "The key I never let
from my hands."

He would not empty the phial out of the window, because--he thought
on the next visit of the surgeon he might get him to administer
the dose himself, and he would have to pay for the laudanum,
consequently to waste it would be to throw away two shillings.

It chanced one day, when the Broom-Squire was somewhat better, and
had begun to go about, that old Clutch was taken ill. The venerable
horse was off his feed, and breathed heavily. He stood with head
down, looking sulky.

Bideabout was uneasy. He was attached to the horse, even though
he beat it without mercy. Perhaps this attachment was mainly
selfish. He knew that if old Clutch died he would have to replace
him, and the purchase of a horse would be a serious expense.
Accordingly he did all in his power to recover his steed, short
of sending for a veterinary surgeon. He hastened to his cupboard
in the upper chamber, and unlocked it, to find a draught that he
might administer. When he had got the bottle, in his haste, being
one-handed, he forgot to re-lock and remove the key. Possibly he
did not observe that his wife was seated in the window, engaged in
needlework. Indeed, for some time she had been very busily engaged
in the making of certain garments, not intended for herself nor
for her husband. She worked at these in the upper chamber, where
there was more light than below in the kitchen, where, owing to
the shade of the trees, the room was somewhat dark, and where,
moreover, she was open to interruption.

When Bideabout left the room, Mehetabel looked up, and saw that he
had not fastened the cupboard. The door swung open, and exposed
the contents. She rose, laid the linen she was hemming on the
chair, and went to the open press, not out of inquisitiveness,
but in order to fasten the door.

She stood before the place where he kept his articles of value,
and mustered them, without much interest. There were bottles of
drenches for cattle, and pots of ointment for rubbing on sprains,
and some account books. That was all.

But among the bottles was one that was small, of dark color, with
an orange label on it marked with a boldly drawn skull and
crossbones, and the letters printed on it, "Poison."

This was the phial containing the medicine, the name of which she
could not recall, that the doctor had given to her husba