“Theer's no denyin' that chap nothin,” said Snac, looking after Reuben's retiring figure. “He's got that form an' smilin' manner as'll tek no such thing as a no. An' lettin' that alone,” he continued, again relapsing into candor, “he could punch my head if he wanted to, though I'm a match for ere another man i' the parish--and he'd do it too, at anny given minute, for all so mild as he is.” “He's the spit of what his uncle was,” said the aged rustic. “When he was a lad he was the best cudgel-player, the best man of his hands, and the prettiest man of his feet from here to Castle Barfield.” “He's fell off of late 'ears, then,” said Snac. “Ah!” quavered the old fellow, “it's time as is too many for the best on us, Mr. Eld. Who'd think as I'd iver stood again all comers for miles and miles around for the ten-score yards? I did though!” “Didst?” cried Snac. “Then tek a shillin' and get a drop o' good stuff wi' it, an' warm up that old gizzard o' thine wi' thinkin' o' thy younger days.” And away he swaggered, carrying his shilling's worth with him in the commendations of the rustic circle. He was a young man who liked to be well thought of, and to that end did most of his benefactions in the open air. In the mean time Reuben had disappeared with Joseph, and was already engaged in spoiling the village sport. Joseph was so resolved upon the collars and the cravat, and his imagination was so fired by the prospect of those splendid additions to his toilet, that Reuben was compelled to promise them from his own stores. Joseph became at once amenable to reason, and promised to overlook his lordship's meanness. “Are you going to do anything for his lordship to-day, Joseph?” his protector asked him. “No,” said Joseph. “He's gi'en me a holiday. I tode him as 'twarn't natural to think as a man 'ud want to go to work i' togs like thesen. The fust day's wear, and all!” “Well, if you _should_ care to earn a shilling--” “I couldn't undertek a grimy job,” said Joseph. “Not to-day. A message now.” “A message? Could you take the message in a wheelbarrow, Joseph?” “A barrer?” Joseph surveyed his arms and legs, and then took a grip of the laced waistcoat with both hands. “A message in a wheelbarrow for a shilling, and a pair of collars and a black satin cravat to come I home in, Joseph.” “Gaffer,” said Joseph, “it's a bargain.” Reuben's message was Ezra Gold's musical library, and the volumes having been carefully built up in a roomy wheelbarrow, Joseph set out with them at a leisurely pace towards his patron's home. Reuben on first entering his uncle's house had laid the green baize bag upon the table. When the books were all arranged, and Joseph had started away with them, Reuben re-entered. “I've brought the old lady back again, uncle,” he said.