Old Betty had a horror of the workhouse. To
save her old age from it she had deposited her
wages in the Bank for the last twenty years;
and also a little legacy from Mr. Hardic's
father. She now went about the house of her
master and debtor, declaring she was sure he
would not rob her, and, if he did, she would
never go into the poor-house. "I'll go out
on the common, and die there. Nobody will
miss me."

The next instance led to consequences upon
consequences: and that is my excuse for telling it
the reader somewhat more fully than Alfred
heard it.

Mrs. Maxley, one night, found something
rough at her feet in bed. " What on earth is
this?" said she.

"Never you mind," said Maxley: " say it's
my breeches; what then?"

"Why what on earth does the man put his
breeches to bed for?"

"That is my business," roared Maxley, and
whispered dryly, " 'tain't for you to wear 'em,
howsever."

This little spar led to his telling her he had
drawn out all their money: but, when she asked
the reason, he snubbed her again, indirectly;
recommended her sleep.

The fact is, the small-clothes were full of bank
notes; and Maxley always followed them into
bed now, for fear of robbers.

The Bank broke on a Tuesday: Maxley dug
on impassive; and when curious people came
about him to ask whether he was a loser, he used
to inquire very gravely, and dwelling on every
syllable, "Do— you—see—anything—green—in
this here eye?"

Friday was club day; the clubsmen met at the
"Greyhound" and talked over their losses.
Maxley sat smoking complacently; and, when
his turn came to groan, he said dryly " I draad
all mine a week afore. (Exclamations.) I had
a hinkling: my boy Jack he wrote to me from
Canada as how Hardies was rotten out there:
now these here Bankers they be like an oak tree:
they do go at the limbs first, and then at the heart."

The club was wroth; " What? you went and
made yourself safe and never gave any of us a
chance! Was that neighbourly? was that——
clubbable?"

To a hailstorm of similar reproaches, Maxley
made but one reply: " 'Twarn't my business to
take care o' you." He added, however, a little
sulkily: " I was laad for slander once: scalded
dog fears luc-warm water."

"Oh," said one, "I don't believe him. He
puts a good face on it; but his nine hundred is
gone along with ourn."

"'Tain't gone far, then." With this he put
his hand in his pocket, and after some delay
pulled out a nice new crisp note and held it up:
"What is that? I ask the company."

"Looks like a ten pun note, James."

"Well, the bulk 'grees with the sample; I
knows where to find eight score and nine to
match this here."

The note was handed round: and on inspection
each countenance in turn wore a malicious
smile; till at last Maxley, surrounded by grinning
faces, felt uneasy.

"What be 'e all grinning 'at like a litter o'
Chessy cats? warn't ye ugly enough without
showing of your rotten teeth?"

"Haw! haw!"

"Better say 'tain't money at all, but only a
wench's curl paper:" and he got up and
snatched it fiercely out of the last inspector's
hand. "Ye can't run your rigs on me," said he.

"What an if I can't read words, I can figures;
and I spelt the ten out on every one of them,
afore I'd take it."

A loud and general laugh greeted this boast.

Then Maxley snatched up his hat in great
wrath, and some anxiety, and went out, followed
by a peal.

In five minutes he was at home; and tossed
the note into his wife's lap. She was knitting by
a farthing dip. "Dame!" said he, controlling
all appearance of anxiety, " what d' ye call that?"

She took up the note and held it close to the
candle: " Why, Jem, it is a ten pound note, one
of Hardie's— as was."

"Then what were those fools laughing at?"
And he told her all that had happened.

Mrs. Maxley dropped her knitting and stood
up trembling: " Why you told me you had got
our money all safe out?"

"Well, and so I have, ye foolish woman;" and
he drew the whole packet out of his pocket and
flung them fiercely on the table. Mrs. Maxley
ran her finger and eye over them, and uttered a
scream of anger and despair:

"These! these be all Hardie's notes," she
cried; " and what vally be Hardie's notes when
Hardies be broke?"

Maxley staggered as if he had been shot.

The woman's eyes flashed fury at him: " This
is your work, ye born idiot: 'mind your own
business,' says you: you must despise your
wedded wife, that has more brains in her finger
than you have in all your great long useless
carcase: you must have your secrets: one day poison,
another day beggary: you have ruined me, you
have murdered me: get out of my sight! for if
I find a knife, I'll put it in you, I will." And in
her ungovernable passion, she actually ran to the
dresser for a knife: at which Maxley caught up
a chair and lifted it furiously above his head to
fling at her.

Luckily the man had more self-command than
the woman; he dashed the chair furiously on the
floor, and ran out of the house.

He wandered about half stupid: and presently
his feet took him mechanically round to his
garden. He pottered about among his plants,
looking at them, inspecting them closely, and
scarce seeing them. However, he covered up one
or two, and muttered, "I think there will be a
frost to-night: I think there will be a frost."