When first I came I some did trust, And did my money lend; But when I asked for the same They soon forsook their friend. Now my cure is no man’s sorrow―― Pay to-day and trust to-morrow. However a scrawl of chalked hieroglyphics on the bar door proved that the practice of the publican was less resolute than his professions. “I think I’ll ha’ another half pint,” said the old man, who had been called Nat. A little girl, who served the beer and tobacco brought in the liquor the old man ordered. “Ye’ve travelled a greatish distance, maybe?” said one of the company to Peace, glancing at his boots, which were begrimed with mud and sand. “Pretty well, as far as that goes. I can’t say exactly how far I’ve walked, not knowing the ground.” “Ah! I see. A stranger to these parts.” “Yes. I’m on a tour.” “For pleasure?” “Well, no, not altogether pleasure――business. I’m a picture-frame maker by trade, and deal in prints and photos. Would you like to see some of my wares?” “Ah! that un should,” said several. “Well, then, so you shall.” He was about to open his pack when a noise of footsteps was heard descending the stairs, and in another moment the broad form of Farmer Wilmot filled the doorway. “Here, my lads,” said he. “It isn’t often I give you a treat; but as I’ve sold my whate and got a good price for it, and as, moreover, this be my son’s birthday, I’ll give ’ee somthing to drink his health.” He placed several pieces of silver in the girl’s hand, and said―― “Give it ’em out in the sixpenny, my little maid, and then what they do drink will do ’em good.” The rustics gave a loud cheer and thanked him again and again for his generosity. He appeared to be well known to all present, with the exception of Peace, who never remembered to have seen him before. “Good-by, lads, and don’t mek beasts on yourselves. Ale, in moderation, won’t hurt anyone; but too much on it is good for no man. Good-night to all.” And with these words the honest farmer mounted his gray mare, which was standing at the door of the hostelry, and trotted off in company with two friends, similarly mounted. “I be downright glad he’s sold his whate,” said one of the rustics. “He aint all eyes and ears like some measters, and he knows how to let a poor man off his first fault.” “He was one of us once, ye see, sir,” said another, addressing himself to Peace. “He’s bin taught to eat poor man’s bread and to do poor man’s work, and he knows what it is as comforts a poor man’s heart. It is only such as he as pities the poor. The rich and idle don’t pity, know not what hard work, nor hunger, nor sufferin’s loike.” “Aye-that be true enough,” said Nat. “He’s as good as gold, an’ his ’art be in the right place.” “I hope he’ll get home safe and sound,” said Peace; “but I suppose there aint many robbers about this part?” “Lord, love ye, no――never a one,” cried several voices.