“That is to be seen,” said Maxley gravely. “Before I lets you go, you must tell me whether you be jesting, or whether you have really been so simple as to drop fourteen--thousand--pounds at Hardie's?” No judge upon the bench, nor bishop in his stall, could be more impressive than this gardener was, when he subdued the vast volume of his voice to a low grave utterance of this sort. Dodd began to be uneasy. “Why, good heavens, there is nothing wrong with the old Barkington Bank?” “Nothing wrong?” roared Maxley: then whispered': “Holt! I was laad once for slander, and cost me thirty pounds: nearly killed my missus it did.” “Man!” cried Dodd, “for my children's sake tell me if you know anything amiss. After all, I'm like a stranger here; more than two years away at a time.” “I'll tell you all I know,” whispered Maxley, “'tis the least I can do. What (roaring) do--you--think--I've forgotten you saving my poor boy out o' that scrape, and getting him a good place in Canada, and--why, he'd have been put in prison but for you, and that would ha' broken my heart and his mother's--and----” The stout voice began to quaver. “Oh, bother all that now,” said Dodd impatiently. “The bank! you have grounded me on thorns.” “Well, I'll tell ye: but you must promise faithful not to go and say I told ye, or you'll get me laad again: and I likes to laa _them,_ not for _they_ to laa me.” “I promise, I promise.” “Well then, I got a letter to-day from my boy, him as you was so good to, and here 'tis in my breeches-pocket.--Laws! how things do come round sure_ly:_ why, lookee here now; if so be _you_ hadn't been a good friend to _he, he_ wouldn't be where he is; and if so be _he_ warn't where _he_ is, _he_ couldn't have writ _me_ this here, and then where should _you_ and _I_ be?” “Belay your jaw and show me this letter,” cried David, trembling all over. “That I wool,” said Maxley, diving a hand into his pocket. “Hush! lookee yander now; if there ain't Master Alfred a-watching of us two out of his window: and he have got an eye like a hawk, _he_ have. Step in the passage, Captain, and I'll show it to you.” He drew him aside into the passage, and gave him the letter. Dodd ran his eye over it hastily, uttered a cry like a wounded lion, dropped it, gave a slight stagger, and rushed away. Maxley picked up his letter and watched Dodd into the bank again and reflected on his work. His heart was warmed at having made a return to the good captain. His head suggested that he was on the road which leads to libel.