At half-past eight, when it had grown almost dark, Isaac descended the hill. John opened the door to his knock. "Good evenin', Isaac. Yer'll take it, will yer?" "If you can't do nothin' better with it," said Isaac, unwillingly. "But in gineral I'm not partial on keeping other folk's money." John liked him all the better for his reluctance. "It'll give yer no trouble," he said. "You lock it up, an' it'll be all safe. Now, will yer lend a hand?" Isaac stepped to the door, looked up the lane, and saw that all was quiet. Then he came back, and the two men raised the box. As they crossed the threshold, however, the door of the next cottage--which belonged to Watson, the policeman--opened suddenly. John, in his excitement, was so startled that he almost dropped his end of the box. "Why, Bolderfield," said Watson's cheery voice, "what have you got there? Do you want a hand?" "No, I don't--thank yer kindly," said John in agitation. "An', if _you_ please, Muster Watson, don't yer say nothin' to nobody." The burly policeman looked from John to Isaac, then at the box. John's hoard was notorious, and the officer of the law understood. "Lor' bless yer," he said, with a laugh, "I'm safe. Well, good evenin' to yer, if I can't be of any assistance." And he went off on his beat. The two men carried the box up the hill. It was in itself a heavy, old-fashioned affair, strengthened and bottomed with iron. Isaac wondered whether the weight of it were due more to the box or to the money. But he said nothing. He had no idea how much John might have saved, and would not have asked him the direct question for the world. John's own way of talking about his wealth was curiously contradictory. His "money" was rarely out of his thoughts or speech, but no one had ever been privileged for many years now to see the inside of his box, except Eliza once; and no one but himself knew the exact amount of the hoard. It delighted him that the village gossips should double or treble it. Their estimates only gave him the more ground for vague boasting, and he would not have said a word to put them right. When they reached the Costrells' cottage, John's first care was to examine the cupboard. He saw that the large wooden chest filled with odds and ends of rubbish which already stood there was placed on the top of his own box. Then he tried the lock, and pronounced it adequate; he didn't want to have Flack meddling round. Now, at the moment of parting with his treasure, he was seized with a sudden fever of secrecy. Bessie meanwhile hovered about the two men, full of excitement and loquacity. And the children, shut into the kitchen, wondered what could be the matter.