"There's nowt to do but whisper, 'Parson's fav'rite!'-- an' Parson hisself melts away like a mist o' the mornin' or a weasel runnin' into its 'ole! Hor--er, hor--er, hor--er!" And again the laughter pealed out long and loud, "Feathery" Joltram bending himself double with merriment, and slapping the sides of his huge legs in ecstasy.

Miss Tranter hearing the continuous uproar, looked in warningly, but there was a glimmering smile on her face.
"We'se goin', Miss Tranter!" announced Bill Bush, his wizened face all one broad grin.

"We aint the sort to keep you up, never fear! Your worst customer's just cleared out!" "So I see!" replied Miss Tranter calmly,--then, nodding towards Helmsley, she said--"Your room's ready." Helmsley took the hint.

He rose from his chair, and held out his hand to Peke.
"Good-night!" he said.

"You've been very kind to me, and I shan't forget it!" The herb-gatherer looked for a moment at the thin, refined white hand extended to him before grasping it in his own horny palm.