arded it vaguely as a means of cheating a man by
making him believe that he would be paid. Altogether, the operation on
the miser's mind was a task that Godfrey would be sure to hand over to
his more daring and cunning brother: Dunstan had made up his mind to
that; and by the time he saw the light gleaming through the chinks of
Marner's shutters, the idea of a dialogue with the weaver had become so
familiar to him, that it occurred to him as quite a natural thing to
make the acquaintance forthwith. There might be several conveniences
attending this course: the weaver had possibly got a lantern, and
Dunstan was tired of feeling his way. He was still nearly
three-quarters of a mile from home, and the lane was becoming
unpleasantly slippery, for the mist was passing into rain. He turned up
the bank, not without some fear lest he might miss the right way, since
he was not certain whether the light were in front or on the side of
the cottage. But he felt the ground before him cautiously with his
whip-handle, and at last arrived safely at the door. He knocked
loudly, rather enjoying the idea that the old fellow would be
frightened at the sudden noise. He heard no movement in reply: all was
silence in the cottage. Was the weaver gone to bed, then? If so, why
had he left a light? That was a strange forgetfulness in a miser.
Dunstan knocked still more loudly, and, without pausing for a reply,
pushed his fingers through the latch-hole, intending to shake the door
and pull the latch-string up and down, not doubting that the door was
fastened. But, to his surprise, at this double motion the door opened,
and he found himself in front of a bright fire which lit up every
corner of the cottage--the bed, the loom, the three chairs, and the
table--and showed him that Marner was not there.

Nothing at that moment could be much more inviting to Dunsey than the
bright fire on the brick hearth: he walked in and seated himself by it
at once. There was something in front of the fire, too, that would
have been inviting to a hungry man, if it had been in a different stage
of cooking. It was a small bit of pork suspended from the
kettle-hanger by a string passed through a large door-key, in a way
known to primitive housekeepers unpossessed of jacks. But the pork had
been hung at the farthest extremity of the hanger, apparently to
prevent the roasting from proceeding too rapidly during the owner's
absence. The old staring simpleton ha