me," replied Byres, who
determined to humour his more inebriated companion. "Well, Mr Furness,
I've no objection. Why should he live? Is he not a sinecurist--one of
the locusts who fatten on the sweat and blood of the people, as the
Sunday paper says? Don't you remember my reading it this morning?"

"Very true, Master Byres."

"What d'ye say, then?--shall we over with him?"

"We must think a little," replied the schoolmaster, who put his hand up
to his chin, and remained silent for a minute or two. "No," resumed he,
at last; "on second thoughts I cannot do it. He halves his beer with
me. No pension--no beer; that's a self-evident proposition and
conclusion. It were ingratitude on my part, and I cannot consent to
your proposal," continued the schoolmaster; "nay, more, I will defend
him against your murderous intentions to the very last."

"Why, Master Furness, you must be somewhat the worse for liquor
yourself: it was your proposal to throw him over the bridge, not mine."

"Take care what you say," replied the schoolmaster; "would you accuse me
of murder, or intent to murder?"

"No, not by no means--only you proposed heaving him over the bridge: I
will say that."

"Friend Byres, it's my opinion you'll say anything but your prayers; but
in your present state I overlook it. Let us go on, or I shall have two
men to carry home instead of one. Come, now, take one of his arms,
while I take the other, and raise him up. It is but a quarter of a mile
to the cottage."

Byres, who, as we observed, was by far the more sober of the two, did
not think it worth his while to reply to the pedagogue. After a few
staggers on the part of the latter, their comrade was raised up and led
away between them.

The drunken man appeared to be so far aware of what was going on that he
moved his legs mechanically, and in a short time they arrived at the
cottage-door, which the pedagogue struck with his fist so as to make it
rattle on its hinges. The door was opened by a tall, handsome woman,
holding a candle in her hand.

"I thought so," said she, shaking her head. "The old story: now he will
be ill all night, and not get up till noon."

"What a weary life it is with a drunken husband. Bring him and thank
you kindly for your trouble."

"It has been hard work and hot work," observed the schoolmaster, sitting
down in a chair, after they had placed their comrade on the bed.

"Indeed, and it must be," replied the wife. "Wi