'E wornt but a ten-year-old lad, an' that prison spoilt 'im for life.

'E wor a fust-class Lord's man as did that for a babby boy, an' the hull neighbourhood's powerful obleeged to 'im.

So don't ye,"-- and here he turned his stolid gaze on Helmsley,--"don't ye, for all that ye're old, an' poor, an' 'elpless, go cadgin' round this 'ere reverend gemmen's property, cos 'e's got a real pityin' Christian 'art o's own, an' ye'd be sent to bed wi' the turnkey." Here he paused with a comprehensive smile round at the company,--then taking up his hat, he put it on.

"There's one too many 'ere for pleasantness, an' I'm goin'.
Good-den, Tom! Good-den, all!" And out he strode, whistling as he went.

With his departure every one began to move,--the more quickly as the clock in the bar had struck ten a minute or two since.