“Give me back my sword, you impudent rascal!” cried he, making as he spoke a vain attempt to regain possession of the weapon. But Bram, who was a good deal stronger than he looked, kept him off easily with his right hand, while he retained a tight hold on the sword with his left. “You shall have it back to-morrow reeght enough,” said Bram good-humoredly. “But maybe it’ll be safer outside t’house till ye feel more yerself like. Miss Claire yonder knaws it’s safe wi’ me.” “Oh, yes; oh, yes,” panted Claire eagerly, though in truth she had not the least idea who this mysterious knight-errant was. “Let him have it, father; it’s perfectly safe with him.” But this action of his daughter’s in siding with the enemy filled Mr Biron with disgust. With great dignity, supporting himself against the wall as he spoke, and gesticulating emphatically with his right hand, while with his left he fumbled about for his gold pince-nez, he said in solemn tones-- “I give this well-meaning but m-m-muddle-headed young man credit for the best intentions in the world. But same time I demand that he should give up my p-p-property, and that he should take himself off m-m-my premises without furth’ delay.” “Certainly, sir. Good-evening,” said Bram. And without waiting to hear any more of Mr Biron’s protests, or heeding his cries of “Stop thief!” Bram ran out as fast as he could by the way he had come, leaving the outer door, which he had damaged on his forcible entry, to slam behind him. Once outside the farmyard, however, he found himself in a difficulty, being suddenly stopped by a farm laborer, in whom his rapid exit from the house had not unnaturally aroused suspicions, which were not allayed by the sight of the drawn sword in his hand. “Eh, mon, who art ta? And where art agoin’?” Bram pointed to the house. “There’s a mon in yonder has gotten t’ jumps,” explained he simply, “and he was wa-aving this abaht’s head. So Ah took it away from ’un.” The other man grinned, and nodded. “T’ mester’s took that way sometimes,” said he. “But this sword’s none o’ tha property, anyway.” Bram looked back at the house. Nobody had followed him out; even the damaged door had been left gaping open. “Ah want a word wi’ t’ young lady,” said he. “She knaws me. I work for Mr. Cornthwaite down at t’ works in t’ town yonder.” “Oh, ay; Ah’ve heard of ’un. He’s gotten t’ coin, and,” with a significant gesture in the direction of the farmhouse, “we haven’t.” “You work on t’ farm here?” asked Bram. The man answered in a tone and with a look which implied that affairs on the farm were in anything but a flourishing condition-- “Ay, Ah work on t’ farm.” And, apparently satisfied of the honesty of Bram’s intentions, or else careless of the safety of his master’s property, the laborer nodded good-night, and walked up the hill towards a straggling row of cottages which bordered the higher side of the road near the summit.