"I dunno what you're talkin' about," said 'Bias, preoccupied with the thought of coming vengeance. "Who's meanin' to lift his hand against a woman?" "Well, mind you don't, that's all!" She left him standing on the doorstep, and skipped away up the steps. Having reached a point which commanded a view over the blinds of Mr Philp's front window, she gave a glance into the room, and at once her arms and legs started to twitch as though in the opening movement of some barbaric war-dance. 'Bias, still inattentive, took no heed of these contortions. After a moment's pause he rapped sharply on the door with the knob of his walking-stick, then boldly lifted the latch and strode into the passage. On his right the door of the front parlour stood ajar. He thrust it wide open and entered. And, as he entered, a female figure arose from a chair on the far side of the room. "I--I beg your pardon, ma'am!" stammered 'Bias, falling back a pace. "Polly wants a kiss!" screamed a voice. It did not seem to proceed from the lady. . . . Somehow, too, it was strangely familiar. . . . 'Bias stared wildly about him. At the same moment, and just as his eyes fell on the parrot-cage on the table, the lady--But was it a lady? Heavens! what did it resemble--this figure in female attire? "Drat your bird! He won't say no worse! And this is the third mornin' I've sat temptin' him!" Mr Philp--yes, it was Mr Philp--in black merino frock, Paisley shawl and ribboned cap on which a few puce-coloured poppies nodded--Mr Philp, with a handful of knitting, and a ball of worsted trailing at his feet-- But it is impossible to construct a sentence which would do justice to Mr Philp as he loomed up and swam into ken through 'Bias's awed surmise; and the effort shall be abandoned. Mr Philp slowly unwound the woollen wrap that had swathed his beard out of sight. "Clever things, birds," said Mr Philp, and his voice seemed to regain its identity as the folds of the bandage dropped from him. "I wonder whether shavin' would help! . . . I don't like to be beat." 'Bias, who had come with that very intent, lifted a hand--but let it fall again. No, he could not! "Good Lord!" he ejaculated, and fled from the house. Outside, Fancy--who had seen all--was executing a fandango on the step. "Help!" she called, taunting him. "_Who_ talked o' liftin' a hand against a woman?" CHAPTER XXI. THE AUCTION.