'Never fear, dear lady,' cried the invalid, her eyes brightening. 'Before the fiat does come, be assured that God will have reconciled you to it. Ah, ma'am, what matters it, after all? It is a journey we must take; and, when once we are prepared, it seems but the setting off a little sooner or a little later. I got Mary to read me the burial service on Sunday: I was always fond of it; but I am past reading now. In one part thanks are given to God for that he has been pleased to deliver the dead out of the miseries of this sinful world. Ma'am, if He did not remove us to a better and a happier home, would the living be directed to give thanks for our departure from this?' 'A spirit ripe for heaven,' thought Mrs. Hunter, when she took her leave. It was Mrs. Quale who piloted her through the room of the Shucks. Of all scenes of disorder and discomfort, about the worst reigned there. Sam had been--you must excuse the inelegance of the phrase, but it was much in vogue in Daffodil's Delight--'on the loose' again for a couple of days. He sat sprawling across the hearth, a pipe in his mouth, and a pot of porter at his feet. The wife was crying with her hair down; the children were quarrelling in tatters; the dirt in the place, as Mrs. Quale expressed it, stood on end; and Mrs. Hunter wondered how people could bear to live so. 'Now, Sam Shuck, don't you see who is a standing in your presence?' sharply cried Mrs. Quale. Sam, his back to the staircase door, really had not seen. He threw his pipe into the grate, started up, and pulled his hair to Mrs. Hunter in a very humble fashion. In his hurry he turned over a small child, and the contents of the pewter pot upon it. The child roared; the wife took it up and shook its clothes in Sam's face, restraining her tongue till the lady should be gone; and Mrs. Hunter stepped into the garden out of the _mêlée_--glad to get there: Sam following her in a spirit of politeness. 'How is it you are not at work to-day, Shuck?' she asked. 'I am going to-morrow--I shall go for certain, ma'am.' 'You know, Shuck, I never do interfere with Mr. Hunter's men,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'I consider that intelligent workmen, as you are, ought to be above any advice that I could offer. But I cannot help saying how sad it is that you should waste your time. Were you not discharged a little while ago, and taken on again under a specific promise, made by you to Mr. Henry Hunter, that you would be diligent in future?' 'I am diligent,' grumbled Sam. 'But why, ma'am--a chap must take holiday now and then. 'Tain't in human nature to be always having the shoulder at the wheel.' 'Well, pray be cautious,' said Mrs. Hunter. 'If you offend again, and get discharged, I know they will not be so ready to take you back. Remember your little children, and be steady for their sakes.' Sam went indoors to his pipe, to his wife's tongue, and to despatch a child to get the pewter pot replenished. CHAPTER VIII. FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS!