"Well, well, you can please yourself," said Gorman, knocking the ashes out of his pipe, and placing it in his vest pocket as he rose and buttoned his thick pea-jacket up to the chin; "but I'll tell you what it is, if you _are_ a descendant of the hunter of the far west that you boast so much about, it's precious little of his pluck that you've got; an' so I tell 'ee to your face, David Boone. All I've got to say is, that you'd better be wise and take my advice, and think better of it." So saying, Gorman went out, and slammed the door after him. Meanwhile, Miss Matty Merryon, having purchased a small phial of turpentine, returned to Number 6, and ushered Willie Willders into the presence of her mistress. Miss Emelina Tippet was neither tall nor stiff, nor angular nor bony; on the contrary, she was little and plump, and not bad-looking. And people often wondered why Miss Tippet _was_ Miss Tippet and was not Mrs Somebody-else. Whatever the reason was, Miss Tippet never divulged it, so we won't speculate about it here. "A note, boy, from Mr Auberly?" exclaimed Miss Tippet, with a beaming smile; "give it me--thank you." She opened it and read attentively, while Master Willie glanced round the parlour and took mental notes. Miss Emma Ward sat down on a stool in the window, ostensibly to "do sums," but really to draw faces, all of which bore a strong caricatured resemblance to Willie, at whom she glanced slyly over the top of her slate. Matty remained standing at the door to hear what the note was about. She did not pretend to busy herself about anything. There was no subterfuge in Matty. She had been Miss Tippet's confidential servant before entering the service of Mr Auberly, and her extremely short stay in Beverly Square had not altered that condition. She had come to feel that she had a right to know all Miss Tippet's affairs, and so waited for information. "Ah!" exclaimed Miss Tippet, still reading, "yes; `get him a situation in your brother's office,' (oh, certainly, I'll be sure to get that); `he seems smart, I might almost say impu--' Ahem! Yes, well--." "Boy," said Miss Tippet, turning suddenly to Willie, "your name is William Willders, I believe?" "Yes, ma'am." "Well, William, Mr Auberly, my relative, asks me to get you into my brother's--my brother's, what's 'is name--office. Of course, I shall be happy to try. I am always extremely happy to do anything for--yes, I suppose of course you can write, and, what d'ye call it--count--you can do arithmetic?" "Yes, ma'am," replied Willie. "And you can spell--eh? I hope you can _spell_, Edward, a--I mean Thomas--is it, or William?" Miss Tippet looked at Willie so earnestly and put this question in tones so solemn that he was much impressed, and felt as if all his earthly hopes hung on his reply, so he admitted that he could spell. "Good," continued Miss Tippet. "You are, I suppose, in rather poor circumstances. Is your father poor?" "He's dead, ma'am; was drowned."