Having made it clear to the perverse Jeremiah Growther--against whom he seemed to hold such an inveterate spite--what he must do, he arose and called to Haldane: "What are you doin' out there in the rain?" "I'll be through in a few minutes." "I don't want the rest done till mornin'." "It will pay neither of us for me to come back here to do what's left." "It may pay you, and as to its payin' me, that's my business." "Not altogether--I wish to do my work on business principles; I haven't got down to charity yet." "Well, have your own way, then; I s'pose other folks have a right to have it as well as myself, sometimes. Come in soon as you are through." By the time Haldaue finished his task the clouds had settled heavily all around the horizon, hastening forward an early and gloomy twilight, and the rain was beginning to fall steadily. His mood comported with the aspect of sky and earth, and weariness, the fast ally of despondency, aided in giving a leaden hue to the future and a leaden weight, to his thoughts. The prospect of trudging a mile or more through the drenching rain to his previous squalid resting-place at No. 13, whose only attraction consisted in the fact that no questions were asked, was so depressing that he decided to ask Mr. Growther for permission to sleep in the corner of his woodshed. "Come in," shouted Mr. Growther, in response to his knock at the door. "I'm through," said Haldane laconically. "Well, I ain't," replied Mr. Growther; "you wouldn't mind taking that cheer till I am, would you?" Haldane found the cushioned armchair and the genial fire exceedingly to his taste, and he felt that in such comfortable quarters he could endure hearing the old man berate himself or any one else for an hour or more. "Where are you goin' to sleep to-night?" asked his quaint-visaged host. "That is a problem I had been considering myself," answered Haldane, dubiously. "I had about concluded that, rather than walk back through the rain to the wretched place at which I slept last night, I would ask for the privilege of sleeping in your wood-shed. It wouldn't be much worse than the other place, or any place in which I could find lodging if I were known. Since I did not steal your silver I suppose you can trust me with your wood." "Yet they say your folks is rich." "Yes, I can go to as elegant a house as there is in this city." "Why in thunder don't you go there, then?" "Because I would rather be in your wood-shed and other places like it for the present." "I can't understand that." "Perhaps not, but there are worse things than sleeping hard and cold. There are people who suffer more through their minds than their bodies. I am not going back among my former acquaintances till I can go as a gentleman." The old man looked at him approvingly a moment, and then said sententiously: "Well, you may be a bad cuss, but you ain't a mean one."