not remember that to-day was your birthday?
Lord bless your sweet face, I wouldn't
have forgot it on any account. How old are
you to-day, sir? Long time ago, sir, since
you was a plump smiling little boy, with a
frill round your neck, and marbles in your
pocket, and trousers and waistcoat all in one,
and kisses and presents from Pa and Ma and
uncle and aunt, on your birthday. Don't
you be afraid of me wearing out this shirt
by too much washing. I mean to put it
away in lavender against your next birthday;
or against your funeral, which is
just as likely at your time of life—isn't it,
sir?"

"Don't waste a clean shirt on my funeral,"
retorted Mr. Treverton. " I hav'n't left you
any money in my will, Shrowl. You'll be on
your way to the workhouse, when I'm on
my way to the grave."

"Have you really made your will, at last,
sir? " inquired Shrowl, pausing, with an
appearance of the greatest interest, in the
act of cutting off his slice of bacon. " I
humbly beg pardon, but I always thought
you was afraid to do it."

The servant had evidently touched
intentionally on one of the master's sore points.
Mr. Treverton thumped his crust of bread
on the table, and looked up angrily at
Shrowl.

"Afraid of making my will, you fool!"
said he. " I don't make it, and I won't make
it, on principle."

Shrowl slowly sawed off his slice of bacon,
and began to whistle a tune.

"On principle," repeated Mr. Treverton.
"Rich men who leave money behind them
are the farmers who raise the crop of human
wickedness. When a man has any spark of
generosity in his nature, if you want to put
it out, leave him a legacy. When a man is
bad, if you want to make him worse, leave
him a legacy. If you want to collect a
number of men together for the purpose of
perpetuating corruption and oppression on a
large scale, leave them a legacy under the
form of endowing a public charity. If you
want to give a woman the best chance in the
world of getting a bad husband, leave her a
legacy. If you want to send young men to
perdition; if you want to make old men
loadstones for attracting all the basest
qualities of mankind; if you want to set
parents and children, husbands and wives,
brothers and sisters, all together by the ears,
leave them money. Make my will! I have
a pretty strong dislike of my species, Shrowl,
but I don't quite hate mankind enough yet,
to do such mischief among them as that!"
Ending his diatribe in these words, Mr.
Treverton took down one of the battered
pewter pots, and refreshed himself with a
pint of beer.

Shrowl shifted the gridiron to a clear place
in the fire, and chuckled sarcastically.

"Who the devil would you have me leave
my money to? " cried Mr. Treverton
overhearing him. " To my brother, who thinks
me a brute now; who would think me a fool
then; and who would encourage swindling,
anyhow, by spending all my money among
doxies and strolling players? To the child
of that player-woman, whom I have never set
eyes on, who .has been brought up to hate me,
and who would turn hypocrite directly by pretending,
for decency's sake, to be sorry for
my death? To you, you human baboon!
—you, who would set up an usury-office
directly, and prey upon the widow, the fatherless,
and the unfortunate, generally, all over
the world? Your good health, Mr. Shrowl!
I can laugh as well as you—especially when
I know I'm not going to leave you sixpence."

Shrowl, in his turn, began to get a little
irritated now. The jeering civility which
he had chosen to assume on first entering
the room, gave place to his habitual surliness
of manner and his natural growling intonation
of voice.

"You just let me alone—will you?" he
said, sitting down sulkily to his breakfast.
"I've done joking for to-day; suppose you
finish, too. What's the use of talking
nonsense about your money? You must leave
it to somebody."

"Yes, I will," said Mr. Treverton. "I will
leave it, as I have told you over and
over again, to the first Somebody I can
find who honestly despises money, and who
can't be made the worse, therefore, by having
it."

'' That means nobody," grunted Shrowl.

"I know it does!" retorted his master.

"But you can't leave it to nobody," persisted
Shrowl. " You must leave it to somebody.
You can't help yourself."

"Can't I? " said Mr. Treverton. "I rather
think I can do what I please with it. I can
turn it all into bank-notes, if I like, and make
a bon-fire with them in the brew-house
before I die. I should go out of the world
then, knowing that I hadn't left materials
behind me for making it worse than it is—
and that would be a precious comfort to me,
I can tell you!"

Before Shrowl could utter a word of
rejoinder, there was a ring at the gate-bell of
the cottage.

"Go out," said Mr. Treverton, " and see
what that is. If it's a woman-visitor show
her what a scarecrow you are, and frighten
her away. If it's a man-visitor——"

"If it's a man-visitor," interposed Shrowl,
"I'll punch his head for interrupting me at
my breakfast."

Mr. Treverton filled and lit his pipe during
his servant's absence. Before the tobacco
was well a-light, Shrowl returned, and
reported a man-visitor.

"Did you punch his head? " asked Mr.
Treverton.

"No," said Shrowl, " I picked up his letter.